Henry and Herm
by lovelynoise
Summary: Crossover HP/Tudors. Crookshanks is playing with Hermione's time turner ... Hermione/Henry VIII.
1. Chapter 1

_1510_

"Enrique! Enrique, are you not coming to bed soon?" Catherine called from the bedroom.

Henry couldn't help but smiling. He'd never admit it, but he loved how she called him the Spanish version of his name.

"I just have to read these through", he called back and flipped the pages in his hands. Something that Mr. Fox and Mr. Warham had given him. Nothing interesting, though, he'd much rather be in bed with Catherine. "Oh, sod it", he muttered to himself, "it can wait".

His wife was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. She had the cutest button nose, glowing eyes and, for once, her wavy red-brown hair was freed from the covering head cloth, falling free over her beautiful pale shoulders.

He crawled in under the covers and kissed her rosy cheeks, which looked like she'd just been outside or as if she was blushing.

"Your foots are like ice", Catherine said as he kissed her.

"Oh, forgive me", he said and moved away.

"No, it feels good." She sneaked closer. "I was warm all day."

"I can tell", Henry said with a hand on her forehead. "Did you call on the physician?"

Catherine shook her head. "No. It is nothing, I am well."

"Maybe you have a cold. I'll ask the physician to look at it tomorrow."

"That is not necessary." She rested her head on his chest.

"I say it is. What if there's something wrong with ...?" He didn't finish the question, but they both looked at her bulging stomach.

Catherine crossed her heart before she answered. "I am well. We both are. Now, tell me about your day."

"I shall not bore you with that story. Has … it moved tonight?"

Catherine nodded. She placed his trembling hand on her stomach. Henry laughed as something nudged the palm of his hand.

"I can feel it", he said, with a tone of surprise.

"Him", Catherine corrected.

He smiled. "Him. I can feel him."

"_Nuestro hijo_", she said. "_Príncipe de Inglaterra._" Our son. Prince of England.

_1996_

Hermione took notes even though she'd already heard about the event a few times before. Although, when the teachers at Woodslands Junior School had mentioned Henry XVIII, she never would have thought he'd have such an immediate impact on her life. It was rather interesting how someone who had lived almost five hundred years earlier still could influence the magic society so much.

Harry and Ron didn't seem to agree. Ron was snoring with his faced pressed against his palms and Harry looked out through the window, absolutely oblivious to the world around him. They probably expected her to lend them her notes again. She was seriously considering turning them down for once, just to see how they'd react. And maybe to get them to pay attention in class now and then.

"'Tis forbidden to conjure of Sprites witchcraft enchantments or sorceries to intent to find money or treasure, or to waste consume or destroy any person in his body, or to provoke any person to unlawfull love, or for any other unlawfull intent or purpose ...'"

Hermione ignored the monotony in Professor Binns voice and wrote down his monologue word by word.

"The penalty", he continued, "to break the Witchcraft acts was death, by axe or fire. In 1944, a Helen Duncan was jailed under the Witchcraft Act on the grounds that she had claimed to summon spirits. Obviously only a muggle would try to summon spirits, since it is perfectly a waste of time. Therefore the episode demanded no intruding by the Ministry of Magic. Later that year, although, a Ms. Yorke was also convicted, and she was indeed a witch, suffering from permanent memory loss due to a miscalculation when using the _obliviate_, which lead to quite a lot of publicity in muggle newspapers."

When the class finished, Harry and Ron yawned and rubbed their fists in their eyes.

"Anything worth knowing?" Harry said as he grabbed his books and shoved them into his bag.

"You'd known if you had listened", Hermione said and walked out of the classroom.

"Hermione, you know we never listen. That's why we have you", Ron said as he hit a second grader in the head with his history book. "Make some room", he said and passed by.

"Ron, _you're a –"_

"A prefect, I know. And who are you, my Mum?"

She looked at Harry to get some backup, but he was busy staring at Cho Chang.

"Why don't you ask her out already?" Hermione groaned.

"Huh?" Harry said, pulled out of whatever fantasy he was having.

"Oh, never mind", she said. "Boys!"

"What's with her?" Ron asked Harry as Hermione disappeared up the stairs.

"Probably nervous about the NEWT's", one of the twins said – Hermione could never tell them apart.

Before she could hear their answers she'd closed the door behind her.

She sighed as she saw the mess Lavender and Parvati had left behind. She could just lift her wand and the tidy the place up, but what good would that do? The next morning it would just look the same. They were just like Ron and Harry – they always expected _her _to clean up _their _mess.

"Oh, Crookshanks", she said when she heard a soft purring. "At least you're on my side, aren't you?" She let go of her book bag and sat down on the bed. "What have you got there?" she asked as Crookshanks jumped up next to her and she scratched him behind the ear. "You could really use a good scrub char…", she started, before she saw the glittering object in Crookshanks' mouth. "Crookshanks, give that to me", she said cautiously. "That's not a toy!" She reached out her hand to catch the small hourglass hanging on its golden chain, but the furry animal was too fast. He jumped onto her nightstand, took a leap for the red and golden canopy and then disappeared into her trunk.

Bullocks. Ron better never find out about this, or she'd never hear the end of it. _Not only is that scabby excuse for a cat a danger to other animals, it's even breaking wizard laws!_

"Crookshanks, come here!" she lured, but no cat appeared. "Fine!" she said. "Colloportus", she murmured at the door, and the lock clicked – she wouldn't need Lavender or Parvati in here either before she'd sorted this all out. "One last chance, Crookie." Still no cat. "Alright, suit yourself. Stupify!" she said and pointed at the trunk. The cat _better _still be in there. She reached down the trunk, and … bullocks.

The world started spinning around her.


	2. Chapter 2

_1512_

"Enrique? Are you not coming to bed?" Catherine called from the bedroom.

"Henry", he muttered between his teeth. "It's Hen-ry." Outloud he said: "I have to read this, I promised Thomas I'd look it through. You go to sleep, darling."

"You know I cannot sleep until you are next to me."

"Well, then I guess you'll have to stay awake."

He threw the papers on the desk. Who was he trying to fool? It didn't matter if he read them or not, Thomas Wolsey would still do as he pleased. It wasn't that Henry didn't trust him, he did, but it was as if no one took him seriously, as if everyone still saw him as the child he had been when he married Catherine. That had to change. But who would believe him to be a man if he couldn't even produce an heir?

"I'm going out for a while", he said to Catherine, not staying long enough to hear what she answered.

To the guard outside their room, he said: "I am going for a stroll in the garden. I do not want any interruptions, is that understood?"

"Yes, your majesty", the guard answered and bowed.

The garden was surrendered at this late hour, and his only company were the glistening stars and the moon. It was peaceful, and yet … he was nowhere near peaceful. Two years ago, he had never been happier, but now – maybe God was punishing him after all.

A big thump interrupted his thoughts.

"Crookshanks, no!" someone yelled in a low voice. "This isn't the way into the castle. Crookshanks, come back! Merlin, I can't even see anything … Lumos."

Something looking like a firefly caught lit up in the corner of his eye.

"Who's there?" he demanded to know. The light disappeared even faster than it turned up. "I know you're there!" Henry called again. "If you don't come forward I will call on the guards."

The thump was heard again, and then again a little bit further away.

"Crap", the voice said.

"Guards!" Henry called, with his hands looking for some sort of weapon.

"No, wait!" the voice said. "I'll cooperate, I just have to get out of the bushes first."

Out of the shadows step a young woman, not much more than a girl. Her hair was hanging loose – or rather living its own life – and she was wearing some sort of robe, something that might belong at a convent. The girl looked like a mix between a prostitute and a nun. She was holding something in her hand. A knife, perhaps? Had she been sent for him?

"Who are you?" Henry wanted to know, ready to call for the guards again.

"My name is Hermione Granger, sir. I … eh, seem to be a little lost. I thought this would be the entrance to the hallway."

"This is the entrance to my personal chambers, and I am certain that you know this."

The girl raised her head, looking up to the tallest towers of the castle. "Bullocks", he could hear her whisper. "Is … is this Hogwarts?"

"I am unable to understand your vernacular speech, girl. Are you aware to whom you are speaking?"

"Are you the headmaster?" she asked. "I'm so sorry, I'm not really sure what happened myself, and …"

Henry frowned, offended. "Headmaster? I'll have you know that I'm the king. I shall forgive your lack of courtesy and spare your head if you tell me your purpose here."

"Ki… king?"

"Yes. Now, tell me your purpose before I change my mind."

The girl clutched the object in her hand harder, and shook her head as she scrutinized him from head to toes. "No, it can't be … It's impossible, it would never have turned that far … And even if that's the case, I should still be in the same place …"

"What is that thing in your hand?" Henry wanted to know.

"Oh, this?" the girl said and waved the object. "Nothing, nothing at all. Just … a stick. From the bushes."

Henry lowered his eyebrows.

"Are you some sort of mental person?"

The girl laughed nervously. "Haha, no, of course not. Why would you think that?"

"You speak to yourself out loud, you are waving a stick. And you are in the royal garden without permission."

She swallowed loudly enough for him to hear it and dropped the stick to the ground. "Oh, Merlin. You really are the king."

This girl _must_ be mental. "Yes. And you would be very wise to tell me your purpose here."

She bent down to pick up her stick. "As I said, I seem to be lost. I should just leave you alone, and you don't even have to worry about me."

"So you think that I should just let you wander off?"

"Yes, that would be nice. I just need to find my cat."

"A cat? You brought a cat?" Why hadn't he just called on the guards already?

"Yes. No! He ran in here, and I followed him. Yes. I'm sorry, I'll leave as soon as I find him. – _Crookshanks, come here!_" she hissed.

"You must understand that I cannot let you leave", Henry said.

The girl took a step back. "But you have to! I really can't be here! I mean, I can't even understand how I _can _be here, but I really shouldn't be here either."

"It is true that you have no right to be here. But it is in the middle of the night", Henry objected. "And you said that you were lost. Where would you go?"

"I'll figure something out", she said and waved her hand. "Crookshanks!" She looked into the bushes, but no cat.

"I cannot let a woman walk off on her own in the middle of the night", Henry said. That was true. Especially not a crazy woman who somehow had managed to sneak passed his guards. "If you wait here, I'll have someone escort you to a room, and then the royal physician can take a look at you."

"I am _not_ crazy!" The girl seemed upset and clung to her stick.

"Of course not", Henry reassured her. "Guards!" he called at the top of his lungs. Footsteps echoed in the hall ways. Finally.

A man appeared and bowed to his king. "Yes, your majesty?"

"Find this girl a room, will you?" Henry said.

"Yes, your majesty. – This way, milady."

The girl seemed to have noticed the man's sword. "Alright", she said and passed him into the hall way. Henry pulled the man aside.

"And make sure the physician takes a look at her."

"Of course, your majesty."


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione walked back and forth in the tiny room. There was just a bed and a small table, and it was freezing. Hogwarts was nowhere near this cold, not even during the winter.

She thought about making a small fire with magic, but realized it probably wasn't the most intelligent idea. If they understood she was a witch and took her wand away, she wouldn't stand much of a chance.

What she had to do was to find Crookshanks, and with him the Time Turner, and then they'd be out of here in no time. She didn't worry too much being locked into this room – after all, she was a witch, and _alohomora _was imprinted in her mind by now. She just had to get back to the garden, and summon the cat to her. Before anyone realized there was a cat flying around, they'd be long gone.

That seemed easy enough (if she ignored the fact that she didn't know if the Time Turner actually could spin the other way, or the sheer amount of spins it would take), but the real question was how she ended up here in the first place. The Time Turner should not be able to take anyone this far back in time, and certainly not to an entirely different place, hundred miles from where she'd started out. Maybe professor McGonagall could answer that when she got back … if Hermione wanted to end up in Azkaban. Reality dawned on her. She couldn't tell McGonagall about this, not after promising to take good care of the Time Turner and to use it with great caution. This was as far from taking care and being cautious as anyone could be. This was _illegal. _Breaking school rules were like a walk by the lake in comparison.

And still, that wasn't her biggest concern. Her biggest concern was the fact that she had to get back. No other witch or wizard had ever had a chance like this before, and she was about to throw it away, just like that. She wasn't sure exactly when she'd ended up, but she'd narrowed it down to either the 15th or the 16th century, a time that really could be a bit more well-recorded when it came to the history of those _not _male, human wizards.

If she hadn't been such a law-abiding citizen, she knew exactly where she'd start – by finding out who this king she'd met tonight was. Right now, the only thing she knew was that he hadn't looked anything like the portraits in the history books (probably because those portraits looked as if Dobby had made them). Really, it could have been anyone … the English monarchs during that time period had changed more often than the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors.

Hermione tried to ignore the urge to stay around, tried to ignore all the things she could learn from the witches and wizards here … But no! That would be risky, not to mention wrong! She couldn't stay here. No way.

… not more than a day, at least. One day more or less wouldn't make any difference. It would only mean a smaller amount of spins on the Time Turner.

She gave the bed and its dirty sheets one look and waved her wand at it. "_Tollesorde!_" At once the sheets looked crispy clean and she'd be able to sleep without having to worry about fleas. She lay down with her wand in a tight grip.

Sounds of people walking about in the stone castle woke her up long before she was anywhere near well-rested enough. In the morning light her wish of staying seemed naïve. Where would she stay? And even though the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy wouldn't be signed for another 70 years, it wasn't as if she could walk out on the street and expect to meet Merlin cleaning his dirty laundry for everyone to see. And her lack of knowledge considering the Middle Ages would most certainly give her away. No, she should summon Crookshanks at once and then try to get home.

She walked to the window and looked down at the courtyard. It was filled with people, who would most definitely see a cat flying over their heads. If she failed at going back, everyone here would know what she was. She had to figure out another way of finding Crookshanks.

A knock on the door interrupted her train of thought.

"Miss?" It was the voice of a young girl.

"Yes?" she answered.

"Are you awake, miss? Can I come in?"

"Of course", said Hermione.

The door squeaked. A young girl dressed in linen and an apron, entered. In her arms she held what seemed to be a dress. She curtsied.

"Good morning", Hermione smiled. "I'm Hermione. What's your name?"

The girl looked at her with a funny look. "Mary, miss. They sent me to get you dressed and decent, before your appointment with the royal physician."

"Oh", Hermione said. That explained the funny look on the girl's face. She probably thought Hermione was a lunatic. Hermione wasn't too comfortable with that knowledge – it felt weird, not having people knowing how intelligent she was. She tried to think of an inconspicuous way of asking what year it was, which wouldn't add to the rumours.

"Can I ask how old you are?" she said.

"I'm 14, miss", the girl answered. That was only two years younger than Hermione, but still she didn't look older than 12. Maybe she was malnourished.

"So then you were born in …" Hermione trailed off and hoped that Mary would give her the answer she was looking for.

"1498, miss."

1498. That meant that this was 1512, and the king was … Henry VIII. Merlin.

"After your appointment, the king wishes to see you", she said.

"He wants to see me?" Hermione wasn't sure whether to jump of joy because a 500-year-old king wanted to see _her, _or to run for her life, since that king just so happened to have killed at least two of his wives and gotten rid of three more. Given the fact that he thought she was a mental person, she decided on the latter. "Maybe I should just get going. It was really nice of him to let me stay here for the night, but I must be going." She laughed and walked towards the door.

The girl looked at her. "_The king wishes to see you_. His majesty would not be pleased if you didn't show up."

Okay, so maybe it was better to meet him for a short while and _then _run for her life. And also, come on. It was Henry VIII! She'd literally never get another chance like this. "Well, maybe just for a little bit, then", Hermione said. And anyway, it couldn't really get worse, could it?


	4. Chapter 4

Henry was sitting behind his desk, humming on some tune stuck on his mind. He'd rather be outside than in this dusty room, but he was waiting for a report from Thomas Wolsey considering the whole situation with France. And he was meeting with that girl. The physician had reported that she seemed to be in perfect physical and mental health – and that he'd never seen anyone, neither peasant nor royalty, with such perfect teeth, he'd reported.

Perhaps that was the explanation for his fascination with this girl – after all, there had been something off about her, but still, he couldn't seem to put her out of his thoughts.

There was a knock on the door. "Your majesty."

"Come in, Wolsey."

The old man entered. Fat and wrinkly, Henry hoped he'd never look like him.

"How are we today, your majesty?"

"Make it quick, Wolsey", Henry said.

The old man nodded. "I have these for you to read", he said and left some papers on the desk. Then he continued. "As you know, the league suffered great losses last month at Ravenna –"

"I am well aware. Spare me the details."

"Well, you will be pleased to hear that things are looking better. We have conquered Therouanne in northern France and the troops are now headed for Tornais."

"Excellent", Henry said. "Now leave."

"Excuse me, sire?"

"You heard me. Leave." Wolsey might know what he was doing when it came to the matters of England, but Henry would not have him to meet with the girl. Henry knew she was – most likely – harmless, but Wolsey would probably have her sent to an asylum straight away, regardless of the physician's report.

Wolsey looked confused only for a second or two, then nodded and backed towards the door.

Henry leaned back in the chair. He pretended to read the papers Wolsey had left, but really, all he could think about was that girl. Miss Granger.

... ... ...

"I'm not wearing that."

"Miss?" Mary looked at her with disbelief.

"In all honesty. You can't expect me to wear that", Hermione repeated. "It looks like an instrument of torture."

"They are called a payre of bodies, miss. A corset. It is the latest fashion. Every woman in court wears it."

"I'd rather be dressed in a dish towel", Hermione said, thinking of the house elves of Hogwarts.

The girl stared at her.

"Or maybe I should just try it on." Appearing to be sane would be much harder than she'd thought. She'd done well enough talking to the doctor, who'd been intrigued with her knowledge (and teeth, for some reason), and it was ironic that it was harder to fool an ordinary girl.

Hermione stripped out of her clothes and let the girl help her on with the thing. As the girl tightened it, the little bosom magically was pressed upwards and looked at least two sizes larger. Considering it felt like she was suffocating, it wasn't really worth it.

"I'm going to kill you, Crookshanks", she muttered through her teeth.

The girl glanced at her. "What was that, miss?"

"Um", Hermione said, feeling how her brain was failing her. "It's such a … thrill. To meet the king." She disappeared into the tent-sized dress and got a bit claustrophobic before her head found the neckline.

"Yes, you are very lucky", the girl said and straightened a few wrinkles on the skirt. "Your family must be very important."

"Something like that", Hermione said. "Now, can I go?"

The girl wrinkled her forehead. "We still must do your hair, miss", she said and looked at the mess surrounding Hermione's head.

"Yes. Of course. How could I forget? Silly me." Hermione sat down on a stool. She'd have to do a much better job if she didn't want the king to burn her at the stakes.


	5. Chapter 5

He didn't recognize her at first. With her hair up and the fitted dress she didn't look like the girl he had seen the night before. She was more beautiful, but also more … average. He didn't quite know what he thought about it.

"Good day, miss Granger", he said.

"Good day, your majesty", the girl said. Then, as if she'd just remembered it, she curtsied, a bit inflexible. Probably a farmer's daughter, unused to such fashions.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you", she said.

"Then I expect that you've had enough time to come up with an explanation as to why you were strolling around the royal garden."

She didn't let go of his eyes. "I told you, your majesty", she said without blinking. "I was looking for my cat and got lost."

"Is that so", he said. The girl was clearly lying. But the question was why. "And have you and your pet been reunited yet?"

"No. I'm still hoping he's going to show up."

"Then I suppose you wouldn't mind spending some time with me while you are waiting?"

"Of course not, your majesty."

Had all of the girl's personality disappeared along with that hideous robe of hers? He was hoping – mostly for her sake – that she'd prove him wrong.

"You must wonder where we are", he said, turning around to face the room.

"It's the royal gymnasium, isn't it?"

"That is right", he said, surprised. "Are you interested in the sports?"

"Not really", she said. "My friends are, though."

"Really?" asked Henry. "What do the play?"

She looked around the room. "Oh, a little of everything."

"Tennis, perhaps?"

She looked at him. "Tennis? I wish."

Once again he was surprised. "So you know it then?"

"My parents used to take me playing every summer", she said. Obviously not a farmer's girl, then.

"And you enjoyed it?"

She smiled. "I prefer watching it. While reading a book."

"Well, I have no books for you here today", Henry said, "but I'm sure you will enjoy this just as much." He walked to a big cabin and opened it.

… ... ...

"Rackets!" the king said and showed her the inside of the cabin. "It changes the whole dynamics of the game."

"Wow, rackets", Hermione said and tried to sound in awe. "Is it a new invention?"

"Well, they have been around for some years. Some say it is a craze but I believe that they are here to stay."

She tried to hide a smile. "Well, then I look forward to see you using it."

"Well, let's hope that there will be a game. Charles should be here by now." Henry called upon a servant and told him to find out the whereabouts of a mister Brandon.

"So. You like to read, then?" the king asked her. "What sort of books?"

"Everything!" Hermione said. "History, geography, biographies, science …"

"Hm. I expected religious texts and fairytales. I suppose I should have known better."

Hermione looked at the king. His gaze made her blush, for some reason. The servant returned before anyone had the chance to say anything.

"Mister Brandon cannot make it to your appointment, your majesty." The man looked down at the floor as he spoke.

"That is a shame. Well, off you go", he said to the servant. "I was so looking forward to this event", he said and turned to Hermione. "But maybe you would like to do me the honour?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Me? No, thanks."

"I'm sure you will do fine. I'll keep in mind that you are a lady", he said.

That comment irritated her a bit. As if she'd play worse just because she was a girl. "Alright. I'll play."

He laughed at her and said something that sounded like: "I knew you were still in there somewhere."


	6. Chapter 6

Okay, this wasn't going as well as Hermione had hoped. She'd thought king Henry had been like all the royalties she'd read about – plump, clumsy, with absolutely no stamina. But under all those layers of clothes there seemed to be an Olympic champion. And it was _torture _exercising (well, torture just exercising at all) but especially so in this dress. The skirts almost made her fall over and it was impossible to breath. She knew it at least would have been a fair game if she'd been wearing her own clothes. But she couldn't admit defeat now, even though she felt her hair tangling and falling out of the hairdo. She'd just have to take it.

Was that a _smirk _on the king's face?

"Is something amusing you, your highness?" she asked (or actually, panted). The last part she added a bit sarcastically.

"Just pastime with good company", he said, still smiling. "Why? Do you wish to forfeit?"

"No." She hit the tennis ball as hard as she could. The king had to run for it. She wasn't prepared for his return though, and missed it completely. She turned to get the ball and walked straight into an unknown man. He caught her in his arms as if she were some damsel in distress. She freed herself before even looking at him.

"Looking for this?" he said and offered her the tennis ball.

"Thanks", she said, as worthily as she should. She had to admit that he was good-looking. But, then again, so was Cormac McLaggen.

"I'm Charles Brandon", he said and took a bow. "And who is this lovely lady I had the delight of catching …?"

The king came closer. "This is miss Granger. She is here on a visit."

Hermione smiled to herself. Some visit. If he'd only known.

"A pleasure meeting you", mister Brandon said and kissed her hand. "I see our king has talked you into playing this game of his. It honours you that you manage to do so in that dress. Believe me when I say that I know that I'm talking about."

"Why would you have worn a dress while playing tennis?" Hermione asked.

"Ask your partner here", mister Brandon said and gave the king a look.

Hermione turned towards Henry.

"It was a bet", the king smiled. "And it might have included some hard liquors, even though that's not an appropriate subject while talking to a lady."

... ... ...

"Charming", the girl commented.

"Well, it seems that I am not needed here after all", Charles said. "A shame, I've been looking forward to defeat this dodger since last time." He turned to miss Granger. "I should have won, you know, but he cheated."

"I thought kings were supposed to be honourable", said the girl and raised an eyebrow.

"Don't believe a word this man says", Henry said. "I never cheat."

"Of course you don't." Charles turned to miss Granger. "But you see, you would do me a great honour if you let me finish this game so that I get the chance to redeem my reputation."

"Well, I was looking forward to beat him myself, but if you put it like that ...", she said and handed over the racket without even blinking.

"I won't let you down", Charles said and actually – winked – at the girl. Outrageous. Did he think that she was just another of those silly ladies maids? It was inexcusable to make such a mistake.

Luckily, miss Granger seemed unaware of the fact that Charles was trying to get her in his bed. Or was she? As he and Charles started playing, Henry couldn't help but notice that the girl's eyes seemed to focus quite a lot on Charles.

Why did that even bother him? Who was she to him, the king of England? They'd only just met the night before. She meant nothing to him.

But, truth was, he realised, there was something about her ... the way her eyes seemed to know so much more than she revealed, how she talked, how she moved ... like nothing he'd ever seen before. One day in, and he was under her spell. Fact was, he didn't even mind. He needed to know more about this girl. Needed to know everything.


	7. Chapter 7

"So. What was the name of your cat, you said?"

"Crookshanks", Hermione answered.

"And this is where it last was seen?" Charles asked.

They were strolling in the garden. The king had had some important meeting to attend but Charles was keeping her company in his place.

"Yes. But by now he could be anywhere." Hermione tried not to think about what that really meant. Without the Time Turner … she blocked the thought out.

"If I may be so bold … a feline is not a suitable companion for a young lady." Charles stopped. "Maybe you should consider getting a puppy instead?"

She couldn't help thinking of Fang, Sirius Black and professor Lupin and what he turned into every full moon. No thanks. "I'm more of a cat person, really", Hermione said.

"And what kind of person is that?" he said and looked into her eyes. He was standing a bit too close for comfort. She backed away, trying to make it look like she was searching the bushes.

"Crookie?" she called, ignoring the question. She was anything but stupid, she understood that he was interested. Question was, why? It wasn't something she'd explore, though. Those kinds of things would only lead to troubles, anyway. And more trouble wasn't something she needed.

… ... ...

Henry was watching the couple from behind the safety of a coloured window. He didn't understand why she was backing away. No girl or woman in her right mind would turn down Charles Brandon. He was everything a young aristocrat could wish for. Rich, handsome, up and about, connected ... the only man more desirable in the whole kingdom was himself.

Was that what she was after? To capture the king's heart and destroy his marriage? Not that there was much left to destroy, of course. He looked at the girl. Her head was stuck into the bushes, calling for her animal. No, he didn't think she had it in her. After all, she had done nothing to lead him on. She was a breath of fresh air. But he still couldn't put his finger on what it was that was nagging him about her. He'd asked his advisors to find something about her the minute he'd left – her parents, her heritage, something that could help him understand who this girl actually was.

Miss Granger returned from the bushes. She tried to free herself from the leaves in her hair. Henry saw how Charles got closer, helped her with the seemingly impossible task. This time, though, she had nowhere to go.

Henry looked away. It wasn't his business. He was a married man, Charles was not. And this Granger girl – no matter what surprises she might hold – it was clear she wasn't a nobility. She was not for him.

As he entered his and Catherine's bedroom, and his eyes landed on his wife, gloomy and cranky from yet another miscarriage, he was all too aware that neither was she. He needed an heir, and she could not provide him one. This marriage had been damned from the beginning, and it was about time he did something about it.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione sank down on the hard bed. She tried to get loose from the dress but it was impossible without help. The thoughts in her head were screaming loudly. They told her she had to figure out a way to get away from here, to find Crookshanks and the Time Turner and get back home, to Hogwarts, to Harry and Ron … but her otherwise brilliant brain came up with nothing. The whole summon-Crookshanks-and-turn-the-Time-Turner-a-million-times had been silly, and she knew it, she just hadn't been prepared to acknowledge that. She wasn't sure even Professor Dumbledore would have been able to get out of this mess. She lay down on her back, looked up at the ceiling.

She couldn't sleep. She just lay there for hours, staring at the dust and the spider webs. There was no potion, no enchantment, no herbs, no brews, nothing she knew of that could help her. She hadn't got any of her books with her. She felt alone without them. They always kept her company, never got mad or argued with her (like Harry or Ron did), were always there. And if the answer she needed wasn't to find in one of her books, the library was always there to help her.

She opened her eyes. The library. A castle like this must have a library. And given that it was the 16th century, even before magic had completely disappeared, there had to be books of magic. She smiled to herself. Yes, the books would help her, she was sure of it. They had to.

She woke up the next morning, tired but content with herself. She had a plan. There was a knock on the door. It must be the servant girl who had forgotten about her the night before.

"Come in!" she said, excited to ask her about the directions to the library. Oh, all the books that would be waiting for her … all the secrets, all the stories hiding inside the covers. All she could learn, so much more than the solution to her problem.

The door squeaked. "Did you sleep well?" That was not the voice of the servant girl. Hermione turned around. Outside her room stood the king.

"Your majesty? I didn't expect to see you", she said and reminded herself to curtsy.

The king looked at her. "Did you sleep in that outfit?"

She looked down on herself, on the wrinkled skirt and on her messy hair that had escaped from the hairdo.

"Of course not", she said and stroke the dress with her hands. "I just felt it was a waste not using the same dress twice."

"That is an evening dress, now it is morning", the king reminded her with a teasing smile.

"Well … a dress is a dress. I'm sure you didn't come here to give me fashion advice." She pulled her hair up and managed to get it to stay.

"You are quite right." He nodded. "Actually I came here to tell you that I have gathered a searching party to find your pet. Meanwhile, I was hoping you would like to stay here with us."

"You're trying to find Crookshanks?" Hermione asked incredulously. Ron would never have done such a thing for her. Harry might have, but he'd probably be too busy getting in to trouble to actually be of any help. Alright, it wasn't as if Henry would be out there himself looking for the cat (like Charles had been – though his motives had been far more obvious), but still …

"I figured that was the least I could do", the kind said. "After all, it got lost on my grounds, didn't it?"

"Thank you."

… ... ...

Did the girl have tears in her eyes? No, it must just have been the morning sun's reflections.

"You are most welcome", he said. "So, what are your plans today? Are you meeting up with mister Brandon again?"

Miss Granger shook her head. "No. But I would love to see the library, if that would be alright."

"The library?" The girl had the castle at her disposal, and one of the richest men in the kingdom who would give up his plans for a wink of her eye, and she wanted to see the library. He smiled. "I am sure that can be arranged. Actually, I am headed that direction myself, and can show you the way."

He offered the girl his arm, and tried to tell himself he wasn't enjoying the touch of her hand far more than he should have.

"And what are your plans today?" she asked him as they walked.

"I will not bore you with telling you that. You would fall asleep within five minutes."

"You might be surprised", miss Granger said.

"Well, you are completely different from any other girl or woman I have ever had the misfortune to meet", he admitted. "Which is why I found you far more interesting than listening to anything I have to say myself. Would you not tell me something about yourself?"

The girl looked down. "What would you like to know?"

"Where are you from? I cannot place your accent."

"From the south", she answered. "Though I live up north."

"Really? How come?" Henry wanted to know.

"I … work. In an old castle. Lots to do."

"And how come you are here?"

Miss Granger studied the walls around them. "I came to visit my parents. In the south, as I said. I only came to London to rest, but the my cat got lost … and the rest you know."

"Will you parents not worry? Or your employers at the castle?"

Those were definitely tears, there was no denying it. "Yes", the girl said and looked at him. "I have to get home … I just don't know how."

Henry took a guess. "Because they will be mad you lost the cat? And you cannot return without it?"

"Something like that."

"It is just a cat, miss Granger", Henry said and took her hand. "I can replace it, if it is that important to you."

She shook her head. "No … It's not just the cat. He …" She stopped and closed her eyes.

Henry looked at her. He could feel she was about to tell him something. Something true, this time. "You can tell me. Hermione, look at me. You can tell me."

She didn't look at him, but she started talking again. "He … he was carrying something. Something important. I have to have it back", she said. "Without it … I can't go back. I'm not even sure I can go back even if I get it."

He lifted her chin. It was wet with tears. "Listen to me", he said, and then used her name again. "Hermione. It will be alright. We will find him, and this object of yours. I promise you. You will be able to return."

No one was in the corridor. He was thankful for giving her a room in one of the emptiest parts of the castle. She was crying silently. He stepped closer and put his arms around her.

"You will be alright. I will make sure of it."


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione sat in the library, the table in front of her filled with books. More books than she even owned, and that was saying something. And still, she couldn't find anything helpful. The only books that even mentioned magic was about curing warts and silly love potions. But she kept on reading, she was bound to find something. She _had _to. She figured someone had to have made the first Time Turner at some point … unfortunately, she didn't know if that would be soon or not for another century or so.

There was a monk close by, who reminded her of the Fat Friar. She felt a sting of homesickness. Though, the way the man looked at her and then at the books, it was as if he'd never seen a woman read before. Luckily, he didn't come close enough to see the titles of the books. Then he'd probably have her burnt at the stakes. She'd have to make sure she put all of the books away before she left.

She tried to remember if she'd ever read anything about time travelling before, tried to remember what Professor McGonagall had told her when she'd handed her the instrument. But all she could remember was all the admonitions – she was never to use it for anything but school, she could not show it to anyone else, she wasn't to let it out of her sight. She'd lose 500 points from Gryffindor, if she ever came back. Worse, she'd be expelled and sent to Azkaban. And that was _if _she came back. If she stayed here, who knew what could happen. If Henry found out she was a witch … what would he do?

She tried to think of how easily he had killed – or rather would kill – his wives, just for the simple fact that they wouldn't give him sons. And how he had been the one who started the witch-hunts. When she had been reading about him, she'd imagined him being like Malfoy, or even You-Know-Who. Heartless, egocentric, not caring about anything but himself. A pure Slytherin. But he was nothing like that. He was kind, and sweet, and caring … She thought of earlier that morning. The man that had been holding her, comforting her, could he really harm her? Would he?

She returned to the books. She didn't have to worry about that. Henry would never find out. She'd be out of here long before he'd even suspect anything, without leaving any trails or evidence. She wouldn't even use magic unless it was completely necessary.

She stopped reading, simply looked at the page. Maybe it was nothing. She certainly shouldn't get too excited about it, she'd probably just be disappointed. But there, in front of her, was a small scribble in the marginal of a text about the full moon and its effects on the human psyche.

_Old Friend of Elves will aid you through_

_Charming of all kind_

_Know their name and then whereto_

_Help there you will find_

A riddle. Maybe it was just a silly joke someone was playing … but what if it wasn't? "Charming of all kind" … Charming. In the sense of wonderful or charismatic, it was absolute rubbish. But what if it meant charm, as in enchantment or magic? What if this Friend of Elves could help her?

… ... ...

There was a knock on the door. "I am busy, Wolsey", Henry said without looking up.

"Tis me, 'Enry", a far too familiar voice said. Catherine. "Can I come in?"

"Fine."

Catherine entered. She looked so much older than her 27 years, with the dark circles under her eyes and the chubby chin that had once been so slender. Far too old for his age of 21. Still, she moved with grace – her posture straight and always with a slight smile on her lips. Queen-like. And boring. Had he once loved her? How could that have been?

"What do you want?" he said as she curtsied.

"I wish to speak to my 'usband", she said. After all these years, she still spoke with a heavy accent and without being able to pronounce the letter h.

"So speak", he said.

"Is it true that you were seen embracing a peasant girl earlier today?" She did not look upset or even curious. Just … disappointed. Like she was judging him. Like she had the right to judge the king.

"I know of no such thing. Who told you such nonsense?"

The queen hesitated. "Fray Diego."

Henry clenched his fists. Diego. Ever since that Spaniard had arrived to the court five years earlier, the queen had been different. Before, she had shared her thoughts with him. Now, the only one she spoke to was the friar. And in Spanish, as well, far too fast for him to have a chance to understand all that they were discussing.

"Tell the Spaniard that he was mistaken", Henry said. "And that if he values his time here in my kingdom, he should not be lurking around."

The queen wished to ignore his threat. "They are talking, 'Enry. About this girl. 'o is she?"

"Who is talking?"

Catherine looked at him. Too proud to show that she was jealous, but it was quite obvious.

"_Todos. _Everyone. They say … that you 'ave grown tired with me."

Henry leaned back, looking straight at her. "Then let them talk."

Catherine looked at him, and then she spoke slowly, but with emphasis on every word. "She cannot give you an 'eir. She might give you a child, a son even." There was something in her eyes that he had never seen before. A wordless threat, almost. "But only a queen can give you an 'eir. Only I can give you what you truly want. _Solo yo. _Remember that."

She curtsied once more, and left the room.


	10. Chapter 10

"Who would have thought I'd find you here?"

Hermione looked up from her books. Charles Brandon was standing in front of her with a smile on his face. He looked like he was coming from outside, wearing high boots and brown suede gloves. And of course, an amount of jewellery worthy a goblin.

"What is it that you are reading?" he asked and tried to get at glance of the books.

Hermione hid the covers with her hand. "Oh, just something to pass the time."

"Well, then I can rejoice you with the news of a far more pleasant pastime." He took the book from her hands and lay it in the pile with the others. "The king has sent me to ask you if you wish to join us when we ride out."

"Riding horses?" She wasn't very fond of horses. Or anything that took her off the ground, really.

"Do not tell me that you prefer reading?" Charles said and raised his eyebrows.

"Actually, yes", Hermione said.

"That will not do! You simply must come with us."

"I would only slow you down."

"If that is so, then so be it", Charles said with a smile. "You will not make a gentleman beg, will you?"

The monk gave them an angry look.

"Why so sullen, fray Diego?" Charles said. The monk looked down but didn't answer.

"Well, this is a library after all. You're supposed to be quiet", Hermione said.

"Impossible", Charles said. "And therefore we must go elsewhere. I insist." He offered her his hand.

She hesitated. Horses and having to ignore Charles's constant flirting … but then there was the possibility of spending more time with Henry. Only in the interest of history, of course. Purely platonic.

"Fine. Just let me put these back first", she said and grabbed the books.

"The servants will do that for you", he said.

And then she'd be banned from the kingdom, with her luck so far. She shook her head. "No, I'll do it. It will only be a minute."

She ignored his hand and went to put all the books in their proper places.

… ... ...

Henry was walking back and forth. What was taking Charles so long? He wanted to get as far away from this castle as possible, and from Catherine. If it were any other day he would have left in advance, letting his good friend know that one does not make the king wait. But this was not an ordinary occasion. Nothing had been ordinary since miss Granger had arrived.

Still, his servants had been unsuccessful in finding more information about the girl, but he could not care less. It was obvious that this girl could not be an ordinary peasant, once you got to know her. He could trust her, he knew that. And when it came to the cat … he was rather hoping it wouldn't show up. Not so soon, at least.

He would not deny that bringing the girl along was a way to irritate his wife even more. But that was merely a bonus. He knew that just a minute in the company of Hermione would bring peace to his upset mind.

If he could, he would have gone alone with her, but that was not for a king to do. He had to have his men, and at least some servants, if anything was to happen. It was unfortunate, but not something he would spend time thinking about. At least Catherine would not be able to spy on them.

"They are here", his friend William Compton said.

"Why are you trying my patience?" Henry asked Charles as he came closer.

"The lady had to change, had she not?" Charles said and took a step to the side. Hermione walked behind him, wearing a green riding habit, a fitted coat and a hat to protect her face from the sun. Henry forgot about the waiting.

"You look lovelier than ever, miss Granger", he said and offered her his arm. She took it and they walked together over the yard. "Have you put your worries to rest?" he asked in a lower tone-of-voice.

"For now", she answered.

"That is all I want", he whispered and gently squeezed her arm. "Your horse, my lady", he said out loud. The girl looked hesitant but did not say a word when he helped her up on the animal.

"Where are we going, your majesty?" she asked when he had gotten on his horse and rode besides her.

He smiled at her. "You will have to wait and see. But I can assure you that you will love it just as much as I do."


	11. Chapter 11

They were riding in a slow trot, but Hermione thought it was fast enough, sitting in a side-saddle. Every minute she was afraid to fall off. It wasn't as much the bruising or possible broken bones she was afraid of, as breaking her wand. She had tried to hide it in a place where she could easily reach it, and had put it in one of her boots. But if she fell, it would be the first to break … And without her wand, she'd be stuck here forever.

Looking at Henry, she tried to remember that would be a bad thing. Never seeing Harry, or Ron, or Hogwarts, or her parents ever again … but with Henry next to her, her friends and family seemed to become a distant blur. He understood her, and he was so much more mature than any other boy she'd ever met. In a way he reminded her of Krum. Only more talkative – and better-looking. But no! It was impossible. He was a historical character, dead and … a cold hand grasped her heart.

If she returned. He would be dead. Bones and dust in the ground.

"Hermione? Are you feeling well? You look like you are about to faint." Henry pulled his horse to a halt and took her hand. She managed to shake her head.

"I'm fine", she said and tried to ignore his warm hand on her cold skin. The butterflies in her stomach, the blushing on her cheeks, every strand of hair all over her … she couldn't feel any of this. She mustn't. Because she had to leave. She knew that. And that would be hard enough even without her falling for a king several hundred years her senior.

"We are almost there", he said without letting go of her eyes. "Then you can sit down."

She nodded. Maybe sitting down would pull her senses together.

A few minutes later they came to a valley. The grass was green and the apple trees were filled with white flowers. A small brook slithered through the landscape. The king jumped off his horse and helped her down. He took her to an old bent tree where one of the servants spread a big blanket over the ground.

"I thought we were going hunting!" Charles called as he came closer.

"There has been a change of plans", Henry said and sat down besides Hermione. "You go hunt, if you wish."

"You don't have to ask me twice", Charles said and urged his horse on. Most of the other men and some of the servants followed.

"You were taking me hunting?" Hermione said and lifted an eyebrow.

Henry shook his head. "Just an evasive manoeuvre."

"And what if you hadn't thought I was going to faint?"

Henry shrugged his shoulders. "I would have thought of something else. Are you disappointed that you do not get to hunt as well?"

"Definitely not", Hermione said.

Henry laughed. "I think I've got something more suitable ..." He called on one of the servants, who came with a big wooden case. Henry opened it and let her take a look. Inside was a lute.

... ... ...

Henry grabbed the instrument. "It is only a work in progress", he said.

"You play the lute?" Hermione asked. She looked surprised.

"There is more than meets the eye to your king", Henry said and smiled. "As is it to you."

The girl looked away, and Henry played a few tones. After a while he started singing as well.

_Pastime with good company  
I love, and shall until I die.  
Grudge who lust but none deny,  
So God be pleased, thus live will I.  
For my pastance,  
hunt, sing, and dance,  
my heart is set,  
all goodly sport,  
for my comfort.  
Who shall me let?_

He stopped playing. "What do you think?" he asked. The girl didn't seem to know what to think. "If you find it horrid, you can say so. I will not take offence."

Hermione shook her head. "No. No! It was … beautiful."

"And sung from the heart", he said. "But merely 'good company' cannot describe what I feel when I am with you …"

The girl looked away again with a blush on her cheeks.

"I know these feelings are not appropriate", he continued. "But I cannot ignore my heart."

"You don't know me", she whispered and let her hair cover her face.

"I know enough", Henry urged. "And what I do not know, I will take joy in finding out."

Hermione shook her head. "I must return home soon. You know that."

Henry moved closer. "Or you could stay. You would have a fine life here."

"I don't belong here."

"You could, if I said so", Henry said and lay his hand on hers. She didn't pull hers away.

"No. You don't understand."

"Then tell me, and I shall make it right."

"I have a life back home. People who need me … I can't stay." She looked up. "And you're married."

Henry refused to give up. She had to understand. "My heart does not belong to Catherine."

She didn't say anything, and he saw his chance. If words could not convince her, then action would. He leaned closer, her lips only inches away. She didn't lean forward, but she didn't pull away, either. She was so beautiful.

"Your majesty! My lady!"

Henry leaned back. That bloody Charles could not have chosen a better moment to interrupt.

"What?" he roared.

"We found something in the woods that might interest miss Granger", Charles said and lifted a hand with a vicious animal fighting for its freedom.

Hermione pulled her hand away and rose to her feet. "Crookshanks!"


	12. Chapter 12

Charles was holding Crookshanks in the scruff of the cat's neck. Hermione stumbled to her feet, her legs shaking. She couldn't tell if it was because of what Henry had been about to do, or the fact that Crookshanks was there. She ran to Charles and his horse, completely unladylike, and reached her arms up.

"Give him to me", she said to Charles, who still was holding the cat like it was a rodent. Sure, Crookshanks might not be the prettiest pet, but he was intelligent. Though, at the moment, he wasn't exactly behaving like it, screeching and squirming like Deatheaters were coming.

"I still think a puppy would be more suitable, miss Granger", Charles said before he gave Crookshanks to her. "I know of a bitch who is expecting any day now."

"I am sure you do", Henry said as he walked up to them.

Henry met his gaze and answered slowly. "My apologies, your majesty. I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

Hermione ignored their banter – having best friends with nemeses somehow made you immune – and searched Crookshanks' fur. She found sticks, branches, mud, possibly blood, bugs and flees – but his necklace was gone. And with it, the entangled Time Turner. She made a noise. It could be anywhere. And for some stupid reason, the Accio spell wouldn't work on such a powerful magical object. "Safety reasons", Professor McGonnagall had called it. Maybe they should have thought about putting some safety catch on it as well.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Henry asked. She shook her head. No, she wasn't alright. Not by far.

"On a first-name basis now, are we?" Charles noted and raised an eyebrow.

"Mind your own business, Brandon", Henry said with a rough voice. He turned to Hermione again. "What happened? Has he lost the object of yours?"

She nodded, afraid to speak. If she said as much as a word she wouldn't be able to keep her tears back.

"Don't worry. We shall find it. We shall search the entire forest, if we must. Isn't that so, Mr. Brandon?"

"Of course", Charles said and bowed his neck. "May I suggest we do away with the animal as well, for doing the young lady such injustice? Also, it might have caught something in the woods."

"No!" Hermione called out and pressed Crookshanks closer to her chest. The cat meowed and tried to claw himself free. "No. No one touches him."

"Of course not", Henry said and put a hand on her back – too high to be inappropriate but too low to be entirely friendly. He looked at Charles. "You best be on your way. Call together a search party and let them know there will be a reward for whomever finds it."

"Do we know what this 'lost object' is?" Charles said and turned to look at Hermione.

She hesitated. Of course she wanted to find it, but to let Muggles look for it … who knew what could happen? It was completely and utterly forbidden, not to mention stupid. … on the other hand, she'd already broken more laws than half the prisoners of Azkaban. Put together.

"An hourglass on a golden chain", she said. "It's really fragile."

"Do not worry, _Hermione_", Charles said. "I'll be gentle. And I'll be the one to bring it back to you, personally." He gazed at Henry, before he rode off.

…

"An hourglass?" Henry asked the girl. Was that what she had been crying about? If she'd only asked, he could have given her a dozen.

"It's a special hourglass", Hermione answered, stroking the cat's back. That animal might be the ugliest thing he'd ever seen – he hated to admit it, but Charles had been right about the puppy.

"What is so special about is?" he wanted to know. "So special you cannot return home without it?"

"It's complicated", she said.

"I'm a king", he smiled. "I am used to complicated."

"Not this complicated", she whispered.

"I am the law", he said and took her hand. "If it is too complicated, I can simplify it."

She shook her head and pulled her hand away. Whatever moment they had shared just then, it was over. But at least he would get some more time, until they found that hourglass. How ironic, he thought, that a time calculator would measure their time together.

She looked at him with her brown teary eyes. "And if I was breaking the law?"

"You? Doing something wrong? I hardly think so."

"But if?" she insisted. She was beautiful when stubborn.

"Then I would clear you of all charges", he smiled. "For all offences but one."

"And that is …?" she asked in a low voice.

He stroke her cheek. "Stealing my heart." He expected her to smile or blush, but instead she burst out laughing. "Sorry?"

She stopped. "Oh. You were serious?" Now she blushed. "I … you …" She turned away from him. "This isn't right. This isn't what's supposed to happen."

"Who is to say if it's right?" he asked and grabbed her arm. "The church? Dash the church. The law? Dash the law – I shall make new ones, a new church and new laws."

She avoided to look at him. "You don't understand. Where I'm from … your destiny is already in the books."

"Catherine is not my destiny. You are. Can you not feel it?"

"Actually, I don't know what I feel." She took a breath. "Can't we just go back?"

"Of course, Hermione. Anything for you", he said and make a sign to the servants to wrap things up.

He meant it. He'd do anything – anything – for them to be together. He was king, and he would have it no other way.


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione held Crookshanks with one arm all the way as they rode back to the castle. He had calmed down a bit, but she hadn't. What was she going to do? The time turner was her only hope of ever seeing her home again. Ron … Harry … Hogwarts … her parents. Was she going to stay in the 16th century forever? To live there … and to die there? And, by the looks of it, possibly change the future for ever.

If anything happened between her and Henry, what would happen? Everything would change. Would he divorce his wife for her, like he had done (… or rather would_ be going_ to) for others? Would _she_ be the reason he split with the Catholic Church? Would children read her name in the history books? _Lady Hermione Granger. Her majesty Hermione of England. Hermione the Queen._

… what would happen if he got tired with her?

She looked at the young man and king, riding a few yards ahead of her. Broad-shouldered, tall and muscular with his auburn hair shining in the sun, he looked nothing like the fat and old man portrayed in the books, behaved nothing like him. But it would happen, wouldn't it, since it already had? It was inevitable. She wasn't foolish enough to think that she could change him … right?

But maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have to change him. The man in the history books had been going through so much, but maybe this Henry (_her Henry, _she almost thought) wouldn't have to experience that. Maybe her coming here would change that, too.

She should care more about the whole "changing the future"-thing, but she didn't want to. It was too distant. It wasn't history. It wasn't just some old story in a book. It was _her _life, _her _story, _her _feelings. For once, she was being noticed. For once, she wasn't just the annoying know-it-all who was friends with the famous kid. For once, it was all about her.

Maybe it shouldn't have happened, but it had. And she was going to do the most of it.

…

Hermione seemed calmer now that she had her pet. Henry didn't understand her affection for the animal, but somehow it seemed fitting. The girl was something special. She couldn't have been ordinary even if she wanted to. Her eyes, her hair, her lips …

It was a shame their rendezvous had been so abruptly interrupted. Would she have kissed him if it had not been so? The thought of her lips on his almost drove him mad – he hadn't felt anything like it for years. Perhaps never. Catherine had never stirred his feelings the way this girl did.

He gazed back to catch a glimpse of her face, and she smiled when their eyes met, smiled like she knew a thousand things he could only dream about. Perhaps that was the answer. He had craved women before, but only for their bodies and their beauty, not for their minds. To know that there was something more behind those brown eyes, a mind that could match his own … that knowledge was exhilarating.

When they entered the walls of the castle, he helped her down on the solid ground while the cat glared at him.

"Behave, Crookshanks", she said to the animal, as if it could understand her. Oddly enough, the creature looked away.

"That must be a first. I've never before seen a cat listen to a single word a person says", Henry said.

"Crookshanks's not like other cats", Hermione said and kissed the animal on its head.

"Belonging to you, I am sure that is the case."

The girl blushed and looked down.

"How come you seem so sure of yourself, yet every time I complement you, you are lost for words?" he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders, as if she was talking to a commoner instead of a king. As if there were no social boundaries between them. "I don't know. I guess I'm not used to it."

He smiled at her. "Then I shall make it my personal mission to change that. Starting tonight. Will you dine with me later this evening?"

"Won't someone mind?" she asked. "Like the queen?"

"We never dine together, unless it is an official occasion", he answered. "Besides, with whom I dine is not anyone's business but mine."

Hermione smiled a little. "You're a king. Who you eat with is everyone's business."

He lowered his voice. "Well, then let us forget for one night that I am king and just be two people enjoying each other's company." He took her hand and kissed it. "Until tonight, my dear."

… ... ...

Hermione wasn't sure where her feet were taking her when she strolled around the town. She had the strangest feeling of being in a dream and was afraid to wake up, even if waking up meant that she would be back home without any problems (well, maybe that was an exaggeration – she was after all friends with Harry Potter).

She sat down next to a stone wall and enjoyed the sun on her skin. Crookshanks meowed and tried to claw himself free, a bit gentler this time.

"Okay, but don't run away this time, Crookie, you hear me?" she said and let him go. He trotted in circles around her before he jumped up on the wall and lay down in the sun, keeping some distance from her.

It was strange, how everything could be such a mess, but still so wonderfully great.

"Shouldn't ladies as herself stay away from the sun?" a voice asked. With the voice came a man from the shadows, a man with dark eyebrows and white hair.

"Probably", Hermione said, even though she was more concerned about UV-radiation than not being pale as a corpse. "I'm sorry, does this place belong to you?"

The man shook his head and laughed. "If I were only that lucky. No, I am just passing by and was astonished by your cat. That is a magnificent animal." Crookshanks, who was on the other side of the man, got up to a sitting position.

Hermione loved Crookshanks, but at the moment there was nothing magnificent about him, and he was in serious need of a Scourgify Spell. "Really?" she said and got up without looking away from the man. He seemed to be staring at her legs with a bit too much interest, and she adjusted the dress which had been caught in her boot.

"Really", he said. "Where did you acquire him, if I may ask?"

"From some farmer", Hermione said, having a bad feeling. "I don't mean to be rude, but I should really go." She whistled for Crookshanks to come, but he didn't move. He was still staring at the man.

"Crookshanks!", she said, without any luck.

"A farmer, you say?"

"Yes." She wished she was a better liar. "But I'm really in a hurry." There was no way to get to Crookshanks. What did the man want with her cat? Not a single person in their right mind would ever touch anything looking like the poor thing did at that moment (not that she'd ever tell Ron about that, of course).

"Well, I wouldn't want to delay a lady of the castle", he said and lowered his neck. "Now then, off you go", he said to Crookshanks. The cat jumped down without hesitation and trotted to her. The man smiled at her. Hermione picked up Crookshanks and hurried back into the castle.


	14. Chapter 14

Later that afternoon, Henry summoned Charles Brandon to his chambers. His friend had just returned and was still dressed to ride out.

"Any luck in finding the object?" Henry asked him.

"It's like finding a needle in a haystack, your majesty", Charles said and took off his gloves. "Most likely someone nicked it the minute it touched the ground. Perhaps we should offer a reward for the one who can bring us the hourglass – otherwise I fear that your bonny lass will never see it again."

"Maybe it's God's will", Henry said.

"I'm sorry?"

He looked at his friend. "If this object is returned to miss Granger, she no longer has any reason to stay here, and so she will return to her home. If the object isn't found, on the other hand ..."

"Clearly she would stay if you asked her. You are the king."

Henry shook his head. "I am not so sure. This girl is ... she is unpredictably. She doesn't seem to care that I am king, even less to do as I ask her."

"I take it this is something positive?" Charles asked.

"Have you not taken a liking in her yourself?"

"Indeed", Charles nodded. "She is exotic, somehow."

"And mine", Henry added. "Don't forget that."

"Of course not, your majesty." He lowered his neck.

"Charles", Henry smiled. "What you need is not a mistress, but a wife. It's been over a year since Anne died."

"A year is nothing", Charles said in a low tone of voice.

"I am not saying you need to love another woman – not even fancy her. But a man of your status cannot stay solitary. I shall think of a good alliance for you. There is nothing like a new title to mend a wounded heart."

"Maybe you are right. But returning to the subject of _your _heart, what shall we do with the search? Call it off?"

Henry shook his head. "No. Keep searching. But if you find it, bring it to me."

... ... ...

Hermione was sitting in the library again, looking through books and trying to find a way home. It just didn't seem as urgent as before. Probably a good thing, since she hadn't found anything after that riddle. She had to admit that she missed the Hogwarts library.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up from her books, but she didn't recognize the young woman in front of her.

"Yes?"

"I am lady Maud Parr, queen Catherine's lady-in-waiting. Her majesty wishes to see you."

Hermione swallowed. "Why?"

The woman looked surprised. "Should it matter, miss Granger?"

"I guess not", Hermione said. Actually, she had a pretty good guess why the queen wanted to see her. If it was something she wasn't, it was daft. She got up on her feet. "Did you say your name was Maud Parr?"

"Yes, miss Granger. You know of me?" They walked out of the library together.

Hermione faked a smile. "You could say that. You have a daughter named Catherine, haven't you?" A certain Catherine Parr who would become Henry VIII's wife at some time. Wife number six, to be more precise.

Maud looked puzzled. "No. That is ... not yet." She put her hand on her stomach. "How did you know I've been planning to name my unborn child Catherine?"

Hermione looked at the woman's bulging stomach, slightly panicking. A few months later and her question would have been answered with a confirmative giggle. "Um. A lucky guess? You are the lady-in-waiting to a Catherine, after all."

Maud didn't seem fully convinced. "Well, the queen is an admirable woman", she said after a while. "Everyone loves her."

Everyone but the king, Hermione thought.

... ... ...

"So you are the girl 'o 'as captured my 'usband's 'eart?"

Hermione had expected a statuesque woman with dark hair and dark skin, but in front of her stood a short woman, with blue eyes, pale skin and red hair showing under the headdress. But even though she had dark circles under her eyes and looked closer to forty than thirty, there was something intimidating about her. She reminded her of an annoyed Mrs Weasley, Hermione realized. A Mrs Weasley dressed in silk and gold.

"If that is the case, your majesty, that is beyond my knowledge", Hermione answered and curtsied.

"You are clever, I take it", Catherine said and looked at her. "You know your way with words. But your appearance is not as astonishing. I was expecting you to be prettier."

Hermione blushed. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, your majesty", she said, though what she wanted to say was 'likewise'.

"T'is not you that I am disappointed with", Catherine said, "but my 'usband. Do not make the mistake to think that you are special to 'im. 'ad it not been you, it would 'ave been someone else."

Hermione looked away. She couldn't argue with that.

"So you know it, too", the queen said. "Then you also know, that whatever it is the king thinks 'e feels for you, it will pass. It will pass, and 'e will tire of you. You will be forgotten, but I will still be 'is wife."

Hermione looked up. "If that's the case, why did you want to see me?"

"I did not want you to get ideas." Catherine looked straight at her. "You may wear a lady's clothes, but we both know that you are not a lady. A lady would not be so open about what it is that you are doing. A lady would 'ide this shameful matter and not let it see the light of day."

"'We' aren't doing anything, your majesty", Hermione said and tried to keep it together. "There is no 'we'. There is nothing to hide."

"Then are you not to dine with the king tonight?"

"Dinner isn't adultery."

Catherine was quiet for a while. "If you believe your own words, then maybe you just are a foolish little hussy, after all."

Hermione clenched her fists. She could take a lot of things, but to be called stupid and a whore in the same sentence was just a bit too much. Her fingers itched to reach for her wand, to use some charm she'd only read about but never dared to try. But besides Maud Parr there were several other ladies-in-waiting and two guards in the room – to have to stun and clear their memories just wasn't worth it. At least, that was what she tried to tell herself.

"You may leave now", Catherine said.

Hermione curtsied again. "I'll tell Henry you said hi", she said and left the room, her heart pounding. No one said anything and the doors were closed behind her. Why had she said that?

Maybe she was foolish after all.


	15. Chapter 15

Henry kissed her hand and led her to the set table. There were no servants in the room, only him and her.

"You look lovelier than ever, Hermione", he said and sat down opposite her. "The fresh air today has given you roses on your cheeks."

That, or the infuriating meeting with Catherine an hour earlier, which was more likely. Before that she'd been pure bliss, but now … meeting her crush's two wives (although one not born) was a bit too much. The queen was right. If it hadn't been her, it would have been someone else. Someone named Anne Boleyn, for instance. Hermione touched her throat when she remembered the girl's destiny.

"You didn't catch a cold, did you? Would you want a fire, perhaps?"

"No thanks, I'm fine", she lied.

"Well, I do think you will enjoy dinner. I ask the chef to put together his best menu. I hope you don't mind helping yourself."

Hermione shook her head. "Not at all." The table was filled with different courses, mini pies, puddings, sauces, meat and a whole lot of things she didn't recognize. It reminded her of the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

"Try this", Henry said and put a mini pie on her plate. She took a bite, which tasted a bit like chicken, but not quite.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Greenfinch pastry", he answered, and she felt her stomach turn. "And you must try the venison", he continued without noticing her discomfort. "My men shot it this afternoon."

For some reason, all she could think of was Bambi's mom, and then, how no one would get that reference for another five hundred years.

"Are you not hungry?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not really, no. Sorry."

He smiled. "You do not have to be nervous. I know what will wake your appetite", he said. "Here, try this. It's an Aztec specialty from the other side of the world." He offered her a cup filled with some brown goo. "It is called 'chocolate'."

She raised her eyebrows. "Chocolate?" It looked nothing like the milk based drink she used to have every Christmas morning. She tried a sip, and nearly choked. She reached for the nearest glass, which was filled with spiced wine. It was like pumpkin juice in comparison.

"It's quite bitter, I know", Henry said. "But you get used to its taste."

"What's _in_ there?" Hermione gasped.

"Vanilla, cinnamon, chilli and cocoa beans."

"No sugar?" she said and took some bread to get rid of the taste. "That explains it."

"Sugar?" He looked puzzled, then smiled. "You are right. That would probably make a good contrast to its bitterness."

"And skip the chilli."

"I don't know", he said and leaned back in his chair. "I like things to have a bit of a sting to them. People, too." He looked at her and smiled. When she didn't smile back, his expression faded. "What's the matter, Herm?"

The nickname twinged inside her. For some reason it made her think of Ron. "Henry ... won't you just tell me what's going on?"

"Call me Harry, won't you? All my friends do."

Harry? Was fate trying to tell her something, or what? "I think I'll stick to Henry, if that's alright."

"Do you not consider yourself my friend?" he asked.

She looked at the fork in her hand. "I don't know. You tell me what I am."

He leaned forward and placed his hands on hers. "You are the girl that I love. That's who you are."

She pulled away her arms and looked into his blue eyes. "And how many girls have you 'loved' before me? More importantly, how many will you love when I'm gone?"

"Why would you go anywhere?"

"Don't change the subject."

He sighed. "I thought I loved Catherine at one point, I did. But after meeting you, I know I was deceived. Still, I have been true to my wife. There has never been another until now."

"I don't want to get in the middle of you two", she said. "Actually, I don't want to get in the middle of any of this."

"This being court life?" he asked.

"Well, yes", she said, sparing him the details. The lunatic, crazy, would-get-her-hanged details.

"So you wouldn't stay here even if I asked you to?" His voice was hoarse.

"Royal mistress was never a carrier I had planned for myself."

"What _had _you planned for yourself?"

His question made her realise what she would give up if she had to stay here, whether that was with Henry or not. A woman couldn't have a carrier. She barely could have a job, at least not one outside her own home.

"I want to make a difference", she said.

"You could make a difference here."

"How? Other than ruining a marriage?"

He got up from the chair and walked to her side. "You could be queen."

"So not only would Catherine have me at the stakes, but I'd ruin the relations between England and Spain?"

He laughed softly. "Did you not hear me? I just asked you to be my queen."

Hermione felt her heart stutter. "I can't be queen. I'm, I'm ..." – from the future; a witch; four hundred and eighty nine years your junior; not suicidal. The reasons were never-ending – "... not a lady", she decided on.

"I don't care", Henry said. "If that is what it takes to make you mine, then so be it."

"How romantic", she said dryly. "And did you forget the fact that you're already married?" As if that would stop him. Though, the historical character Henry VIII and the man who stood in front of her couldn't have been further apart at that moment. Why couldn't he have been just a normal guy, someone she'd met at home, or even better, at Hogwarts? At least someone from her own time. Not someone in the history books.

"That marriage is cursed by God", Henry said and placed his arms around her. "You are the girl the Lord has intended for me."

"I can't", she said, both to herself and to him. She couldn't. She might die. She'd for a fact change history. She wasn't sure which one was the worst.

"You can. You have all the qualities of a queen – you are intelligent, tactical, likeable, a breath of fresh air. This country will love you as much as I do."

"No", she said again and shook her head.

He rolled his eyes. "What girl in her right mind would say no to a proposal to the king?"

"Every girl. I'm not cut out for a life in fame." Being friends with Harry Potter was bad enough, but the queen of England ... oh, good lord. "And I'm not the one for you. I'm sorry, but I'm not."

He let his hands fall hesitantly. "Are you saying you do not love me back?" he asked in a low voice.

She didn't have to lie. "No", she said. But then she looked away. The more she said no, the more certain she was of her feelings: if she'd let herself, she could love him, even though she hadn't known him for more than a few days. But this was worse than the Montagues and the Capulets. They couldn't be together, and it was obvious she was the one who had to do the right thing.

"God, I've been foolish", he whispered. "I was to give you everything ... but you don't even want me."

She couldn't say anything. If she did, she would start to cry.

His voice hardened. "Is it Charles?" he demanded to know. "Is it that sod who has stolen you right under my eyes?"

She shook her head so vividly it made her dizzy. "No. No! I can't stand him. It's not anyone else."

"So it's just me, then. It's just me that you do not want. You'd prefer a commoner's life before choosing me." He turned away from her, staring at the floor.

This time, she wouldn't answer. If she did, the lie would be obvious.

"Maybe you should leave", he said.

She nodded without answering and then walked out the door. When she closed it she could hear some muffled sound from within, but she didn't want to know what it was. She didn't want to know what she'd just thrown away. She didn't care if anyone saw her, if anyone thought her unladylike. What difference did it make now?

She ran.


	16. Chapter 16

He'd have to hold it together until she was gone. He couldn't let her know how her rejection truly made him feel – how he wanted to run to her, kiss her until she was convinced they were meant for each other and at the same time have her thrown in the dungeons for leading him on this way. That was what she had been doing, was it not? She had tricked him into feeling this way, somehow, for some reason he did not know. He should have suspected it, with her coming from out of nowhere, being no one … it just wasn't right.

The door closed, and he wanted to scream, to hurt someone, to cry, to get rid of the feeling resembling how he'd felt when Arthur, his brother, had died. The feeling of losing everything.

But he couldn't. He was king, and he mustn't forget that. It was a responsibility and a prerogative restored upon him by God himself. A king did not scream when his heart felt like breaking. A king did not cry.

Still, it was the title that had driven the girl away. The court life was not for her, she had said. He swiped the plates off the table, hoping the smashing, crashing sounds would ease his pain. The plates smashed and crashed on to the floor, staining the carpet with food, probably ruining it forever, but he did not feel any different.

How could he have been so foolish? How could he have taken her discomfort for quirkiness; her indifference for love? His subjects and servants must have laughed at him behind his back, must have thought him weak for such a mistake. And Catherine … she would use this against him, somehow, he was sure of it.

He could not let it get out. He wanted her gone, wiped away from the face of the earth, but that would be far too obvious. No, she'd have to stay, at least long enough for him to let people think that he'd grown tired of her. To show that he was still the one with power, the one in control.

He left the room to ride out. He needed to clear his head, get away from her and from everything. To make up a plan. And then it would be as if it had never happened.

… ... ...

She managed to keep the tears from streaming until she reached the corridor that held her room. Why then? Maybe because it was so painfully obvious that it _wasn't_ her room.

She'd had three rooms in her life – one when she was little, with pink ponies on the wallpaper and books with Winnie the Pooh, the Animals of Farthing Woods, the Tale of Peter Rabbit, Alice in Wonderland and the Little White Horse; one when they moved when she was eight, with yellow wallpapers and even more books; and the one at Hogwarts.

At first the idea of living with four other girls hadn't been too appealing, but she'd more or less got used to Lavender and Parvati gossiping the nights away, and Fay Dunbar who wouldn't shut up about Quidditch (even though she wasn't very good at it – she'd tried out for the team every year, but never made the cut) and even Sarah Smyth, who never really spoke to Hermione at all.

But at Hogwarts she also had the common room, the library, the study hall, and, most importantly, her friends. She missed Harry, missed helping him with whatever silly plan he was up to at the moment, missed how he thought he was so discreet, but really so obvious. She missed Ginny, missed having a girlfriend to talk to (even if that friend mostly wanted to talk about a certain other friend of theirs). She missed Neville standing outside the Fat Lady because he'd forgotten the password again, missed Dean who scribbled on every free inch on every piece of furniture over the entire school, missed Seamus who'd set something on fire. Merlin, she even missed the twins and how'd they always seemed to make her their target, especially if there was some sort of test or essay coming up only a fortnight away.

And she wouldn't have suspected it, but she missed Ron, sort of the same way you miss a loose tooth – when it's there it's really annoying and you just want it gone, but then when it is, you can tell that something's missing and you actually kind of want it back. She missed 15-year-old boys who were too afraid to tell a girl they liked them, because they thought it would make them look stupid. If Henry had been her age, this would never have happened.

If Henry had been her age, she wouldn't have had to lie.

Or had she lied? She'd only known him for a few days, she couldn't possibly feel that strong about him so soon. It should have been weeks and months before she even started contemplating the idea. And not even then should she feel that way. He … he was a manipulator and a murderer. Would be, that was. He would send his wives to their deaths. How could she even begin to think that she might love him? It was as absurd as if she'd confessed her feelings for you-know-who.

But she couldn't see him doing any of that. She just couldn't see him being the man the books said he had been. The man she'd hurt, and the man sending one after one of his wives to their deaths, they were miles apart. They were not the same person.

Just as Tom Riddle hadn't started out as Voldemort. There had been a trigger.

And maybe something would happen to Henry, maybe something would change him. Maybe something had/would hurt him so bad that he'd lost all sense of compassion and sympathy.

She felt sick to her stomach.

Maybe something like this. Maybe _she'd _actually been here before. Maybe _she _was the one who had made him switch. Maybe she was to blame.

She lay down on her bed. That thought was too much. That this, somehow, had been meant to be, because it had already happened. But then, what was her role? To make sure that everything stayed the same? Or to take fate in her own hands and change everything? Possibly change lives? Possibly risking her own?

No, she told herself. She shouldn't change anything. She would just let the pieces fall wherever they may, and that was that.

She muffled her cries into the pillow.


	17. Chapter 17

"I have found you a wife."

Henry sat behind his desk without even looking up at Charles Brandon.

"A wife, my lord?" Charles asked. Henry thought he looked surprised, even though they'd talked about it only days before. Perhaps he hadn't expected the search to be over so quickly. But Henry had needed something to take his mind off … _her._

"Yes, a wife. Her name is Elizabeth Grey and she is Viscountess Lisle."

"Viscountess Lisle? She is a child!" Charles protested.

"Children grow."

"She's young enough to be one of my daughters. She, Anne and Mary could be sisters! I will not do this, your majesty."

Henry put down his papers. "You would be named Viscount Lisle. And the two of you would not marry until she was of age, of course. Until then she will be your ward – she is an orphan, as you know."

"I cannot."

"Yes, you can", Henry said. "We have already had this discussion. Marriage has nothing to do with love. It is a business transaction. Besides, there needs to be a Viscount Lisle, and you are one of few I'd trust with this position."

"I am honoured, my lord, but I needn't another title – I am already a duke", Charles said and crossed his arms.

Henry spoke slowly. "And if you wish to remain a duke, you will contract to marry lady Grey."

"Do you wish for me to be unhappy?" Charles outburst. "Your marriage may be a punishment, but that does not mean everyone else's should be as well. You don't have the right!"

"I have _every _right", Henry said and rose from the chair, his voice strained. "Have you forgotten to whom you are speaking? I am your king, and you will do as I say. Otherwise you will certainly find the true meaning of punishment."

Charles' lips were trembling, and he swallowed. "I beg your forgiveness, my lord. I forgot my place."

"Yes, you did. Although, I cannot say that I blame you – it is understandable, albeit not excusable. Our world controls us, and not the other way around, with all its rules and laws." Henry sank down again. "However, I am ready to make you a deal – a perk I'm sure you won't say no to."

"Is that so? And what is that, my lord?"

"Not 'what', but 'whom'", Henry corrected. Charles raised his eyebrows.

Henry took a deep breath to make sure his voice wouldn't tremble. "Miss Granger. If you do this, she is all yours to do with as you please."

Charles looked even more surprised. "I thought you said she was forbidden fruit? That she was yours?"

Henry waved his hand dismissively. "I have grown tired with her – I am a king and she is beneath me. After spending time with her I've come to the conclusion that any conquest of mine needs to be of birth, even if she's just a mistress. Given your standards, however …"

Charles laughed, probably remembering the innumerable brothels he had visited in his days. "I cannot say it isn't tempting, but …" He trailed off.

Henry raised his hands. "You do as you please, on that part. I could not care less." The lie stung his tongue. He could not care more. He was hoping Charles would say no to the offer of Hermione, but at the same time he knew it was crucial Charles said yes – people needed to think this girl was just another wench, someone who'd sleep with the entire court and then be gone. She'd be his leftovers, nothing more. If people knew the truth, he'd be ruined.

"Well, then … if I am doing this, I might as well get something out of if, might I not?" Charles offered his hand over the desk table. Henry looked at it, unable to stop the images of that same hand touching Hermione. A surge of rage stirred him, but he did not let it show. He took Charles' hand, perhaps a bit too hard, and shook it.

"Alright", he said. "Then that is decided. You may leave."

Charles took a bow, and as the door closed behind him, Henry cursed both him, his marriage and _her _who had made this necessary.

… … …

Crookshanks meowed and slipped out of Hermione's arms. His fur was wet with her tears and it was a wonder he'd stayed put as long as he had.

"I don't know what to do", she said to the animal. "I want to go home." She put her head in her hands and tried to stop the shivers.

He meowed, as if to answer her. Then he jumped up on the windowsill and looked out the window.

"We need to leave, I know. We can't stay. But the Time Turner … if it's anywhere, it's close to here." Crookshanks came back to her and stroke himself against her leg.

"I just wish you could tell me where the Time Turner is. That is our only chance." She shook her head. "There is nothing in the books, no one to ask, no spell to help …"

There was a knock on the door. She had no idea who it could be – ever since Henry had sent her away, the maids had left her alone and no one had come to her for all day. Her heart fluttered. Maybe … maybe it was Henry who had realized it had all been a lie, realized how impossible it was that she wouldn't feel anything for him.

She wiped the tears off her face on the sleeve and tried to fix her hair. Then she sat up and raised her voice: "Come in".

A tall, broad-shouldered man entered. But it wasn't Henry.

"Mr. Brandon", she said.

Charles smiled. "Actually, that's Lord Brandon, or Your Grace. But feel free to call me Charles."

"What do you want?" Hermione said, ignoring his smirk.

"Just be certain that you are well."

"I am", she said and met his gaze. "You may leave."

He laughed. "Usually only my mother and the king inform me of their approval on my leaving."

"Just go. Please."

Charles shook his head. "Your eyes are red – you cannot fool me into thinking that you are feeling fine."

Hermione looked away. "Well, then be a gentleman and leave me alone."

"A broken heart needs company, not solitude."

"What makes you such an expert?" Hermione said mockingly, doubting that a man like Brandon could ever suffer from a broken heart. More likely he was the type who broke the hearts of others.

"Trust me, I know." Charles's tone of voice forced her to look at him. There was a sincerity in there that she hadn't heard before.

"Sorry", she felt the need to say. After a while she added: "Who was she?"

He made a face. "Let's not ruin the mood with such a pity story."

"The mood's ruined already", she said. "Tell me. I want to know."

"Really?" Charles said with an incredulous look on his face. "You'd be the first."

"Really", she said. Anything to take her mind off things.

He shrugged. "Well. It was my wife. Anne." He looked out the window so she couldn't see his face. "She died last year, never really recovered after giving birth to Mary – that's our daughter. Our second. Our first's named Anne, just like her."

"I'm sorry. You must miss her."

He smiled insecurely. "Yes, I do. I never thought I would – I mean, our marriage was arranged, and before her I was married to her aunt, for heaven's sake, but I don't know … she managed to capture my heart, somehow, against all odds."

Hermione knew the feeling too well.

Charles shook his head. "This was not what I had in mind when I decided to come here", he said with a hoarse tone.

"No?"

"I was planning to ask you if you wanted to spend the afternoon with me – perhaps take another ride in the countryside? The weather is beautiful. Warm, but not sunny enough to harm your pretty skin."

"No, but thank you." The smile on her face was real this time.

"Perhaps a stroll in one of the parks, then? Fresh air would do you good, I am sure."

Hermione contemplated about her options – stay in her room with only the thoughts of Henry and never ever returning home, or walking outside with someone else, even if that someone was Charles.

"Alright", she finally said. "For a little while, at least."

Charles smiled at her and offered her his arm as they walked out of the room.


	18. Chapter 18

"How old are your daughters?" Hermione asked Charles as they walked along the paths in the park. She had her hand on his arm and was surprised at how at ease she felt with him. She couldn't help comparing it to when she had been close to Henry, though, but that was something else entirely. That was losing her mind without even caring, this was a walk as platonic as if it had been Mr. Weasley besides her. Well, perhaps a younger and incredibly good-looking Mr. Weasley, but still. She almost expected him to ask her about the function of rubber ducks.

"Anne is five and Mary two. She had just started talking", Charles smiled. "Apparently she said 'don' wanta'."

"A bit spoiled?" Hermione said and raised her eyebrows.

"Perhaps", he admitted with a laughter. "I give them all they ask for. How can I deny them that, when I barely ever see them?"

"Because of your obligations?" she guessed. Being so close to the king couldn't be an easy job.

He nodded. "I do not wish to complain, but my days are long and when I return home they are already sound asleep. I know that that is what life is like, but I wish I could at least play with them every now and then. Some might find that the wish of a weakling, but I do not care."

"You love them – why should you be ashamed of that?" She looked up at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Do you not know? Love is an emotion only fit for the fair sex."

Hermione pfft:ed. "It takes a brave person to admit how they truly feel."

Charles stopped and looked at her with a look that was hard to know. The shadows from the leaves in the trees made strange patterns over his skin. "You are wise beyond your years, are you not? How could the king think you were not high-bred enough?"

She swallowed. Had that been his excuse? Well, after what Charles had just revealed about the common opinion of love, maybe it wasn't too surprising.

"I read a lot", she said and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

He shook his head. "But that's not all of it. You have a voice of reason independent of your knowledge. Even if you had been illiterate like the many others of your standing, you still would have had a bright mind. You would have known your way in this world."

She blushed, as always when someone called her intelligent. Maybe it was vain, but it was sort of a soft spot for her.

"Thanks", she said.

"I am uncertain whether it's a good thing for you, though", he added. "Strong women have a tendency to get themselves into more trouble than others around here."

She knew too well how true his words were, but she would never trade her intelligence and knowledge for a safe life. It was as likely as handing Harry over to he-who-should-not-be-named.

"That's why I have to leave", she said. There was nothing left for her here anymore.

… … …

"'Enri, may I speak with you?"

Catherine stood in the doorway, and Henry wanted nothing but to deny her request. Unfortunately, he had already done so the last five times she had asked, and he felt obliged to say yes.

"What do you want?"

The strawberry blonde woman waddled into the room. "I wanted to congratulate you on your wise decision to end the association with that commoner."

Henry clenched his fists. "Catherine. I will only say this once – hold your tongue or live to regret it."

"I meant no 'arm", she said. "Just to say I found your final judgment very sensible. That girl was not worthy of your affection."

He closed his eyes. "Shut your mouth, woman. Do you understand English as poorly as you speak it?"

"Do not be angry, 'Enri. I meant not to anger you." She lowered her voice. "I bring good news, as well."

Henry doubted it. "And what is that?"

She blushed and red spots covered her throat and pale cheeks. "I 'ave spoken to the royal physician, and 'ee says that I should, with God's will, be able to bear a child again."

"For how many days?" he asked grimly, knowing that every spawn of theirs had not lived more than a few months outside that barren womb of hers.

She stepped forward. "'Ee thinks a child would survive this time, if I rest and eat well. And I think God is willing this time."

"What do you know of God's will?" Henry said.

"You were tempted by Satan, but you resisted the temptress's forbidden fruit", she said. "God will reward you for it, just like he did Abra'am and Sará in the Bible. They 'ad a son, and so will we."

Henry slowly put down his quill. He had resisted nothing. It was the so called temptress who had resisted him. There was to be no reward, only more punishment. This marriage had been doomed before it had even started. One should not marry one's brother's wife. That was God's words, pure and simple, and he had done it anyway. That was when he had wronged the Lord. It was Catherine who had been the temptress, with her fortunes and titles. Not Hermione. And the lack of heirs and Hermione's refusal was only God's way of letting him know that.

Still. To end a marriage was equally bad, and to do so would turn the Church against him. His only hope was that that Physician knew what he was talking about.

"Fine. I shall sleep in your bed tonight", he said. "Now leave."

She curtsied. "I love you, 'Enri."

He didn't answer. He no longer believed in love.

… … …

Catherine returned to her chambers, where her friend, fray Diego Fernandez, waited for her.

"Todo está bien otravéz, Diego", she said to him. "La intervención no está necesaria. El rey dormirá conmigo esta noche."

"Muy bien, alteza. Se lo dije, ¿no?"

"Lo sé. Pero … ¿podrías continuar vigilar la chica?

"Si. Claro."

_Everything is fine again, Diego. The intervention is no longer necessary. The king will sleep with me tonight._

_Very good, your highness. I told you so, did I not?_

_I know. But ... could you continue to keep an eye on the girl?_

_Yes. Of course._


	19. Chapter 19

A young girl was helping Hermione getting dressed for the day. No one had helped her since she had left Henry, but now, after talking with Charles, the maids were somehow back. Sure, this girl was very young , and judging by the look of her hands and fingernails not normally a lady maid, but Hermione appreciated Charles' effort.

"That's it, milady", the girl said after she had tied the last ribbon. "Anything else you need before we go?"

"Go where?" Hermione asked while trying to make some room for her lungs in the dress.

"Ah, that's right, I completely forget. I'm sorry, milady", the young girl said and wiped her forehead. "Lord Brandon has asked you to accompany him to the joust tournament this day."

"Jousting?" Hermione asked. She'd always felt that Quidditch was bad enough, flying hundreds of feet up in the air, but actual fighting, with lances? She wasn't sure she'd like to see that.

The girl must have sensed her unwillingness, because she said: "Oh, you cannot miss it! Tis the highlight of the year, the final battle between Infant Clifford and Bluff Hal – everyone will be at the tiltyard to see it!"

"Everyone? Even peasants and commoners?"

"Of course! Well, at least everyone who can get off work, that is", the girl answered.

Hermione gave it a thought. Maybe that meant even wizards and witches would show up – they loved a bloody battle, didn't they, with Quidditch and Triwizard Tournaments? Maybe, just maybe, she could spot them in their robes and hats, and find some answers.

Then she realized something. "Everyone? Even the queen ... and the king?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Well, of course her majesty will be there to see it. It's her husband fighting, after all."

Hermione shook her head. "Wait, what? Henr... the king is going to fight? I thought you said they were named Hal and Clifford."

"Where you've been living all your life, under a rock?" the girl said. "Bluff Hal _is _the king, everyone knows that. Henry, Harry, Hal – we cannot all be bothered calling him his royal highness and majesty king Henry the eighth every time we open our mouths, can we?"

"But ... the king can't fight", Hermione protested. "What if he gets hurt?"

"A king cannot be afraid of getting hurt. What use would there be for him then? The war'd be over in a day, if that was so."

Hermione felt cold. "The ... war?"

The girl sighed. "Honestly, don't you ladies listen to anything your fathers and husbands talk about? Even I know that there's a war at the continent."

Hermione had to sit down. 1512. The war against France. She knew this, had read several books about it, but still she had managed to forget all about it. Henry was going to war. He already _was _at war. She couldn't help but paraphrasing Ron in her mind. Bloody hell.

"Are you alright, milady?"

Hermione nodded slowly, even though it was a lie. Sure, the books said Henry would survive, but the books had proved themselves wrong more than once so far. They'd never mentioned _her_, for once.

A war. A war. It was like they were haunting her. How come everyone she cared about had to be a front person in a war? It wasn't enough that Harry had you-know-who after him every single second, no, now _Henry _had to march to war as well.

Although, she'd known this all along, hadn't she? The second she'd seen him and realised who he was, she'd known. That was the reason why she had to leave – his destiny was already set, and she wasn't in it. He was a king, and she was a 20th century witch. He was going to war to gain some stupid territory, just because the pope and queen Catherine's father, the king of Spain, thought that it was his responsibility. He was going to risk his life, and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing.

"Are you certain that you don't need to lie down?" the girl asked.

"I'm fine", Hermione lied. "Let's go to that tournament."

... ... ...

"You look a bit pale, Hermione", Charles said. It was a windy day, and when the sun dared to look out from the clouds, it didn't do much heating.

"I'm fine", she said, her eyes nailed to the yard in front of them. Others fought already, but Henry hadn't shown up yet. Still, people around them were screaming and shouting, mesmerised by the games.

"Haven't we discussed this already?" he asked. "You need not lie to me."

She sighed and took her eyes off the pair of men currently maiming each other, only to look for strange pointy hats and odd-looking robes in purple and emerald green. Everyone down with the commoners were wearing brown.

"Everything's a mess", she whispered. "I need to leave ... but I'm not sure that I want to."

"Then don't", Charles said.

"But there's nothing for me here", she protested. "At least, nothing that I should be wanting."

He put his hand on hers. "I'm not sure what happened between you and Henry", he said and made her look at him. "But you should know that he is not the only one who could give you a good life."

Hermione closed her eyes. Not this again. She'd thought he'd given up on her. "I can get myself a good life."

"I know", he said. "Of that I have no doubt. But you could let me help you."

Hermione shook her head. "You're betrothed, remember?"

"To a child young enough to be my own. But I think Henry is right – marriage has nothing to do with love or affection. A relationship is better off without it." He stroke the palm of her hand with his thumb.

"You don't love me", Hermione said. "You're only impressed I dare to speak what's on my mind."

"Could they not be dependent on each other?" Charles said.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe. But do you feel for me like you did for your wife?"

He looked down at his feet. "No", he admitted. "But I think I could, with time. And no love will ever be exactly like the other."

She jumped as one of the men jousting fell off his horse and was thrown with his head first into the wooden fence. "The victor is Sir Edmund Lee", an announcer shouted, his voice almost overtaken by the shouts from the crowd. "Sir Gregory Peckleton, however, seems to have fought his final battle."

"Maybe", Hermione said to Charles when she could focus again. "But I won't be anyone's mistress. Not yours, not Henry's, not anyone's."

"There are many sins more severe than adultery", he said.

"There are many things more important than attraction", she answered.

"So you admit that you are attracted to me?" he smiled.

She blushed and wished she could just stun him and get out of there. "If you really like me, you won't ask anything of me. You would help me, as a friend."

"Friends?" he said, as if he was unfamiliar with the concept.

"Yes, you know friendship? A state of mutual trust and support between allies", she said, quoting the Oxford Dictionary.

He laughed. "I know what a friend is. Though, I am uncertain that friendship can exist between a man and woman without any other feelings involved. But I suppose I could try. And if I do not succeed, I will at least have proven you wrong. How may I help you?"

She hesitated, and he pressed her hand to his lips. "You can trust me", he said. "Love or no love, that much I know."

She nodded. "I ... I need to speak with someone."

"Someone like whom?"

"A cunning woman", Hermione said. "... about some blisters", she added, before anyone thought she was looking for witches. Which would have been the truth, of course.

"There is a physician at the court", Charles said. "I'll get you an appointment."

"No", she said and shook her head. "Not the physician. This is ... a lady matter", she lied. "And I wouldn't want the court to know about it."

Charles looked like he didn't want to know anymore on the subject either, but he nodded. "A cunning woman, then. I shall see to it."

The announcer spoke up again. "And now, what we all have been waiting for – his royal highness Henry VIII versus Sir Henry Clifford!"

There was still blood on the ground after the men who'd fallen. Two men in armour entered the yard, one from the right, and one from the left. Even though the helmets made them look the same, Hermione recognized the Tudor crest on the shield of the knight with the black horse. The two Henries raised their lances. Hermione held her breath, as did everyone else in the crowd.

By the word of the announcer, the two men both urged their horses towards each other.


	20. Chapter 20

The men raced towards each other, the king on a black horse and the other man on a brown one. Hermione pressed her fingernails into the palms of her hands and wanted nothing but to look away. But she couldn't – what if something _did _happen, and she didn't see it? That would be just as bad.

The men were only a few yards away from each other and they lowered their lances, now pointing towards the opponent's chest. On pure instinct Hermione reached for her wand, hidden within the layers of the dress's skirt, but she didn't do anything. That would be as reckless and stupid as jumping and screaming _I'm a witch _for everyone to hear.

Henry – _her_ Henry, that was – hit his namesake straight on the chest, but Henry Clifford barely moved in the saddle. He did however miss the king's armour by several inches.

Hermione sighed of relief, but she knew it wasn't over until one of them was thrown out of their saddles. She could only hope it wouldn't be Henry. _Her _Henry, of course. God, these people really needed to be a bit more creative when they named their children. Every other person around here was named Henry or Charles or Anne or Mary.

The men returned to opposite sides, and when the announcer screamed, they were on their way again. This time however, Clifford had a much better grip of his lance, and Henry was getting cocky, she could see it. When they hit each other, Clifford's lance struck Henry straight in the stomach, and the king was almost cast off. He swayed in the saddle and fell to the side, the only thing keeping him on being the chaplets. Splinters from the lance had found their way through the gaps of metal, and Hermione was sure she could see blood.

Charles took her hand and held her back – without her realising it, she had been on her way forwards, towards Henry.

"Is he okay?" she asked and shook Charles's arm. "Is he okay?"

"I assume you're questioning whether he's alright or not, and I assure you, he is fine", Charles answered, but he didn't seem too sure.

Whispers and murmurs went through the crowd like a breeze before a storm. Henry's squires seemed stunned, just like everyone else, but before they could put the spare weapons on the ground, Henry straightened up again. There was a common sigh of relief, and Charles let go of Hermione. The king seemed strained, but he waved that he was fine and would continue.

As the horses raced towards each other again, the king seemed to take the upper hand and accompanied by the crowd's cheering, he almost knocked Clifford out of his saddle. This continued for a few more laps, but just as before, Henry's cockiness increased with his victories. And this time, Clifford aimed for the king's heart.

Hermione felt a cold sweat drop run down her clammy back. Without thinking, she found the wand, and hidden within her skirts, she whispered the word _Confundo._

Clifford's arm holding the lance lowered just seconds before he and Henry met, and the king got a hit. As Clifford did nothing to hold on to the horse, he fell to the ground, the horses almost trampling him. Hermione felt terrible, but at least Henry was safe.

"Well, that's just odd", said Charles, his forehead wrinkled. "I could swear Clifford would've got a hit."

"I guess anything can happen", Hermione said without taking her eyes off Henry. With the help of his squires, he'd got off his horse. It seemed as if though he had to steady himself on them to be able to stand. She felt like crying. There was nothing she wanted more than to just run to him and make sure that he was okay – perform a spell or a charm to heal him – but she couldn't for so many reasons.

Charles put a hand on her shoulder. "He'll be fine", he said. "His majesty's strong – this is only a scratch, I promise you."

Hermione wasn't convinced. Given the hygienic attitudes around here, a simple scratch could easily be death of someone.

"Let's see if we cannot find that cunning woman for you", he said to distract her, and she nodded hazily and let him lead her off.

... ... ...

Henry kept his face straight until he reached the safety of the royal tent, set up for his comfort. Then he roared at the squires to get his armour off and then almost losing consciousness from their carelessness when ripping the metal from his wounds.

Instantly maids were at his side, helping him sit down at the chaise longue, washing the wounds and padding his moist forehead.

"Where's the physician?" someone shouted.

"With Sir Peckleton, my lord", one of the squires answered. "His life is hanging on a thread."

"Peckleton is a ninny. Your king is injured, boy, so get that physician here", the same man answered.

"Y-yes, my lord", the boy answered and disappeared.

"How are you, your majesty?" A man with long blond hair and pointy features showed up at the end of Henry's chaise longue. As always he was dressed in even fancier clothes than Henry himself.

"Sir Malfoy", Henry nodded towards the man. "I'm fine, it's nothing."

"It looks like something, your highness", Felicius Malfoy said and looked at the bloody piece of cloth pressed to Henry's stomach. "But the Tudors have always been of a stronger kind than the rest of us."

"It's mandatory for a king", Henry answered.

"In deed. But that is not why I'm here. Is it true that you have set eyes and ears on that young common girl, miss Granger?"

Henry's heart seemed to jump a beat. How could he have known ...? Then again, the Malfoys always seemed to know everything. "How come?" he asked.

"Well, your men aren't doing a very good job, your majesty", Malfoy said and shrugged his shoulders. "The girl was watching the jousting, and so were the men who were supposed to be watching _her._"

"I am sure they can do both things", Henry said.

"And I beg to differ, your majesty. Seeing that miss Granger disappeared in the crowd."

Henry turned his head towards Malfoy, ignoring the nagging pain. "_What?" _he demanded.

"Well, she wasn't alone. She was with Lord Brandon."

Even worse, Henry thought, though he showed nothing, neither relief nor anger.

"Aren't you interested in knowing where they went, your majesty?"

"I thought you said they disappeared?"

"Well, yes." Malfoy smiled. "But I happened to hear where to they were headed."

"Is that so?" Henry said.

"I hope it will serve your majesty as a reminder that we Malfoys will always be you and your future heirs' humble servants." Malfoy lowered his head.

"Get on with it."

"They went to see a cunning woman, your majesty. The girl had requested it."

"What for?" Henry wanted to know.

"I know not, my king. But I do know, as well as you, that such a thing never bodes well."

Henry looked away, once more aware of the pain in his stomach. This time, though, it wasn't only because of the wound.

"You keep your mouth shut about this, Malfoy. It might be nothing", he finally said.

"Of course, your majesty. This knowledge is yours now, to do with as you please." The blond man lowered his head again. "I shall leave you to rest. And I'll see to that physician gets here immediately. You really need to choose your court members and servants more carefully."

"I shall remember that", Henry said with a low voice. "Thank you, Felicius."

The man bowed and left.

Henry sank down on the chaise longue. A cunning woman? Whatever for? He knew there'd be talking if people knew about what had just occurred, but he knew there couldn't be any truth in what would be said. There was no evil in ... _her. _Well, not intentionally, at least. He was certain of it. But then what did it mean?

He knew he should be seeking the answer, but there was another more urgent thought. She had been there today, to watch him. Like the rest of the kingdom, he reminded himself, but still. Maybe it meant that she'd wanted to see him. Maybe it meant that she cared. At least a little. Maybe.

Not that it mattered. That would never be, she had seen to it. To hell with it.

"Where's that physician?!" he roared, throwing the bloody towel at the wall.

... ... ...

A blond man left the royal tent, but he did not head for the physician, as had been promised. Instead his steps lead to a royal servant, waiting to hear news about the king.

"Fray Diego", Malfoy greeted the Spanish monk.

"Señor Malfoy", the hooded man answered.

"Tell your mistress that I have news for her."

"What kind of news, my lord?"

"Good news. News concerning the Granger girl."

"Off corrs, my lord." The monk nodded.

The men departed, disappearing into the crowd. The blond man smiled to himself. This would secure his and his family place at the court, he was sure of it. And if the news of the cunning woman wasn't enough, there was more to tell. About a certain occurrence that had led to the king's victory ...


	21. Chapter 21

The shack that they had walked into was as packed as if someone had tried to hide the Whomping Willow under the cloak of invisibility. Hermione recognized most of the items either from the Herbology greenhouses or Snape's office (which she'd been searching through more times than she should have), and it made her feel more at home than she'd had for a long time. And in the middle of it all, there was an old lady with worn clothes and grey hair, mixing a brown goo in a kettle. Something smelt awful (a bit like polyjuice potion, really). It seemed as if the old woman hadn't heard Hermione and Charles entering, but she stopped stirring the mixture when their shadows blocked the small ray of daylight coming in from the windows.

"What is it this time?" the old lady asked. "If that simpleminded farmer Jones is accusing me of cursing his beets again, tell him the secret is to claim them _before _the frost does, instead of sitting on his bum and waiting for them to jump out of the ground themselves."

"We are not here because of any ill-speaking neighbours", Charles said. It seemed as if though the dirt or lack of space didn't bother him, even though it couldn't be the kind of environment he was used to. "We are here because a lady needs your help."

The old woman narrowed her eyes. "Problems with bringing an heir into the world, has she?" she said and looked at Hermione, who blushed. "I can help you with that, my lady – wouldn't be the first time, I've had royals coming here for that sort of help. Now, it will cost, of course, but –"

"That is not why we are here", Charles interrupted the woman. "This lady is a maiden, and needn't any help of _that _sort."

Hermione blushed again. It _was _true that she hadn't ... done it, but she wasn't as inexperienced as Charles probably believed. Viktor Krum had been more of a physical being, after all.

"So what brings her here, then?" the woman wanted to know.

"Well –" Charles lost some of his confidence. "I wouldn't know", he said. "It's a lady matter." He looked pale. Right. The excuse about blisters. Could she have come up with anything moreembarrassing?

"It's ... kind of private", Hermione said in his place, not daring to think what he'd make out of it. "Would you mind waiting outside?" she asked him.

"Are you certain that you'd want to interact with this sort of person alone?" he asked, not even lowering his voice.

"I'm sure I'll manage", Hermione said, turning away from him.

"Alright. I'll be right outside if you need me." Charles went out, but without closing the door. Hermione felt about as mistrusted as a free house elf.

"Spit it out, then", the woman said. "Haven't got all day, have I?" She went back to the kettle, mixing with a steady grip.

"What are you making?" Hermione asked, trying to sound innocent.

"What is it to you?"

"Well, I thought I recognized the smell, that's all ..." She hoped that the old woman would take the hint.

"A lady accustomed to beet stew? Now, that's something you don't hear of every day."

"Beet stew? Not ... a potion, of some sort?" Hermione knew she was going on a limb, but she couldn't afford being careful anymore.

"A ...?" The woman let go of the ladle. "What are you accusing me of, exactly? I haven't done nothing, I'll tell you that, and everyone knows that that John is just full of lies!"

"I'm not accusing you of anything!" Hermione said, desperate to calm the woman down before Charles heard. "I just _really _need your help."

"Well, I can't help you with that, that's for sure. Warts and colds and toothaches, I can help you with, but I don't deal with potions." The woman returned to her stew. "And if that's not what you're after, I think it's time for you to leave, my lady."

Hermione stepped closer. "If I need something else, then ... would you know who I could go to?"

"I don't associate with that sort of people, I tell you." The woman crossed her arms.

"You can _trust _me", Hermione said. "Please, just tell me if you know anything."

"So you can turn them in and have them hanged? I don't think so. Not that I know anyone."

Hermione was getting desperate. This woman knew something, she had to, and she would tell her, if only Hermione could convince her somehow. She _knew _it was stupid, almost along the lines of something Harry would do, but she had no other choice. Walking to the other end of the room (about five feet away), she closed the door Charles had walked out through, and then she took out the wand from its hiding place. Her voice trembled a bit as she said: _"Alohomora!"_

The lock clicked, and when she turned the handle, the door wouldn't open. "Look", Hermione said. "You can trust me."

The woman was shaking her head. _"What are you doing, child?" _she hissed. "You can't do that here! If someone sees you, if someone heard ...!"

"But _please_, I need your help!" Hermione was close to tears. "I don't know what else to do. Please! Please, help me." The woman was still shaking her head. "Please. Just a name, or a place, or something." She nearly sobbed saying the last few words.

"Fine! If it'll shut you up and get you out of here!"

Hermione nodded. "Yes! I promise."

The woman walked towards the door, but with her back against the wall, as if Hermione would attack her if she looked away for even a second. "I can tell you this. If you _really _need help, it's closer than you think. Do you really think I'd be stuck here if I knew magic?"

It didn't take long for Hermione to understand. "So, you're saying ... at court?" she guessed. "Who?"

"Dunno their names", the woman said, "so couldn't tell you." Something rattled in her hands – keys. Unlocking the door, she practically threw Hermione out, still with the wand visible. "And that's all I can do. Now, leave me alone!" The woman slammed the door in Hermione's face, and then there was the sound of the lock again.

_Someone at court. _It could be anyone. Or no one. It could have been a lie, just to get her out of there. Hermione felt like crying.

"Hermione!" Charles came up to her, his hand on her shoulder. "What did that woman do?" He looked as if he was going to burst through that door, locked or not, if Hermione as much as breathed a bad word. He wasn't the only one who had reacted to the woman's treatment of her – the neighbours just happened to be outside all at once, not even trying to hide their gazes.

"N-nothing", she said, looking down at the ground. "She couldn't help me."

Charles' grip of her shoulder tightened. "Hermione", he said. His voice was soft. "What sort of trouble have you gotten into?"

She shook her head. "It's n-nothing. I promise. Now, let's just go." She didn't like the people staring at her like she was some exotic animal at the zoo. Or rather, a muggle amongst death-eaters.

But he wouldn't let her go. "Hermione", he said again. "Why won't you let me help you? I know that silly excuse of it being a lady problem is just a lie. It has something to do with that hourglass you were looking for, hasn't it?"

"Maybe", she admitted.

"Then I know what is going on", he said.

Hermione's knees buckled. _He'd heard. _He knew. He'd have her hanged. She'd never see home again, or Harry, or Ron, or Hogwarts, or her parents. She'd never see Henry again.

"It's not what you think", she tried, but she'd never been a good liar.

"Don't worry, Hermione. Your secret's safe with me", Charles said, lowering his voice.

She stared at him. How could he be so calm if he sodding _knew, _when that woman had just thrown her out for using a simple spell?

"So you're not going to do anything about it?" she whispered. "You'll let me go? You'll still help me?"

He must have heard the incredulity in her voice, because he laughed and started playing with a lock of her hair, apparently not caring about all the people who could see them. "Hermione", he said. "People steal every day, it's not the end of the world. I'll replace that hourglass with an even better one, and send it to whomever you took it from – no one needs to know your part in it, and then you can forget all about this matter."

Hermione was too insulted to stop his monologue. When he finally kept quiet, she just looked at him for several seconds. "You think I _stole _it? You think _that's _my problem?" she finally said, and then she laughed. She could tell that it sounded as if she was on the verge of madness. But her? Stealing?

Okay, sure. If you were picky, maybe she'd "stolen" a thing or two during her time at Hogwarts. But she'd rather see it as borrowing, since it had always been for the, oh I don't know, greater good and keeping you-know-who from coming back and/or killing Harry and enslaving the rest of the world.

Charles looked sceptical. "Well, if you didn't steal it, what can possibly be that bad?"

And like that, Hermione's manic laughter turned to tears. "Everything!" she yelled. "Everything's wrong! I shouldn't be here, but I am. And I shouldn't have lost that bloody Time Turner, but I did!"

She half expected him to hush her, to tell her to keep her voice down and stop being so unladylike. After all, everyone could hear them – they didn't even pretend to be working at this point. But he didn't. Instead he embraced her. Being so sudden, it stopped her crying, which Charles seemed to take as encouragement. And then he kissed her, his lips intermingling with her tears. But Hermione had never felt more wrong or out of place.

"No!" she snarled, pushing him away from her. "No! Stop it! I told you I didn't feel that way about you, and you said you'd be my _friend_. That's not what friends do! This ..."

"Oh, don't lie to me!" Charles interrupted her. "Just admit that you enjoyed it, and let go of this silly infatuation you have while you're at it! You haven't even known him for a month, so how could what you feel for him be real?"

Hermione felt like punching him in the face, just like she'd done with Malfoy two years back (or rather, 500 odd years into the future, but whatever). But she didn't. Instead she pointed at him, and continued yelling. "Shut up, or I swear I'll make you!"

Charles backed away. "Wo. What are you doing?" But it wasn't her he was looking at, and it wasn't her words that had scared him (well, at least not solely). She followed his gaze to the wand in her hand, the wand she'd forgotten she was even holding, because it felt so natural.

The wand which was sending out red, bright sparks, because of her inability to control her temper.

She'd known Charles' reaction before had been too good to be true. This, however, was more accurate. There was fear in his eyes, panic even, and his hand went to the sword at his belt. There was no time to try to talk to him. And like that, her mind seemed more clear, like the threatening situation brought her back to her normal self (her years at Hogwarts had really screwed her up). She realised that the crowd ironically had disappeared as through magic when she'd raised her wand. An audience which would have seen what Charles just had seen, and react the same way he was doing. And even though she might have been able to obliviate one person, clearing the memories of all those people was an impossible task. Trying to find all of them, one of them would certainly get away and report what they'd just seen to the authorities. Which left her no other choice.

There'd be no time to watch Charles fall to the ground, no time to make sure he was okay. There'd only be time to run. Run fast, run for her life. Run far, far away, and never look back.

"Stupefy!"


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: I have been re-writing this story a bit (nothing major, just a few details and combining some of the shorter chapters), which resulted in this being the 22nd instead of the 24th chapter. It's not too long, but hopefully I'll be able to update quite soon. I have not abandoned this story!**

* * *

For a girl who didn't like running, Hermione seemed to be doing it a lot. And for a witch who'd been described as the brightest one of her age, she really did a lot of stupid things. Such as stupefying Charles. Now she'd lost one of the few allies she had left, and with nowhere to go, Hermione felt like giving up.

Panting, she slowed down, and tried to take control over her breathing again while keeping a tab of what was going on around her. She'd run even further into the mess of smelly alleys and completely lost her sense of direction, and to make things worse, it was getting dark. She wanted to cry.

A figure broke out from the shadows. "Lost, are we, princess?" it said.

"No, I'm fine," Hermione lied.

"Fine indeed. Those are some fancy clothes", the man said and stepped closer.

"I should leave. I'm late, actually", she said and started walking the other way.

"Not so fast", another voice said, this time in front of her. "We just want to make your acquaintance, milady." The few teeth still intact in the man's mouth were yellow and crooked.

"Well, I don't want to make yours," Hermione said. "Let me pass."

"Let me pass, she says. As if she's in any position to give commands. You're not in your pretty palace anymore, princess, and there's no one here to help you." The men stepped closer, grabbing her skirt and caressing the fabric on her arms.

Hermione was too angry and upset to even care about the consequences of her actions anymore. "Stupefy!" she yelled, and both men fell to the ground with a stupid look on their faces. "Well, luckily", she said to them, "I can take care of myself".

Although, that wasn't exactly true. She'd been taking care of herself ever since she got here, and look where she'd ended up. In a deserted ally, with no friends, no place to go and no hope of ever returning home again. She felt her eyes tear up.

And then, without any warning, there was a boy standing in front of her, having appeared out of thin air. Hermione raised her wand, but the boy lifted his finger to his lips, urging her to keep quiet.

"You know of Hogwarts and muggles?" he asked, with a quiet voice.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Yes!" She felt like laughing. The boy was a wizard! "Who are you?"

The boy shook his head, making the black fringe fall in front of his eyes. "Not here. Come with me. We can help you."

"Okay", Hermione said.

The boy lifted a big piece of fabric she hadn't seen until now, and gestured for her to get under it. "An invisibility cloak", she said with a pang of homesickness.

"Sssch!" he said. "We need to hurry, or otherwise they'll find us any minute. We can talk later."

Hermione nodded, and as the boy swept the cloak over their crouched necks, she wasn't sure whether to smile or cry at the familiar feeling.

… … …

"Your majesty!"

"What is it now?" Henry asked with a hoarse voice. One would think that being severely injured would at least result in the privilege of privacy, but no. So far, there had been more people running in and out of his private chambers than in an ordinary week.

"It's Lord Brandon", the servant said. "He's been found in the outskirts of town."

"Well, is that really something you need to inform me about?" Henry asked. It wasn't exactly uncommon for Charles to do such things … after all, that is where one would find the brothels. Although, his fevered brain managed to remember, he was _supposed _to be with _her._

"Well, your majesty … he was unconscious."

"What?!" Henry tried to sit up, but the pain in his abdomen forced him to lie down again. "What? How? When? Why? What happened?"

"We don't know, your majesty. He has yet to wake up to tell us."

Henry didn't even care about what the servant would think of his next question. "What about the girl he was looking after? Where is she?"

"W-we don't know, your majesty. It seems as if though she's disappeared."

Henry lost all his words, and it took a few seconds before he reacted. "_Disappeared?" _he roared. "Well, find her then! Find her or I will have your head on a plate! Now! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!"

The servant nodded and bowed at the same time, and then he stumbled out from the room, only seconds before Henry threw a vase with flowers at the spot where the boy just been standing.

He couldn't think clearly. Hermione, gone. Charles, unconscious. What could have happened? Where was she now? Was she unharmed? His vision blurred. If someone harmed her … he'd have them hanged and tortured and put their heads on a stake and throw every person they'd ever met in prison only to torture them as well.

If only he hadn't been confined to this bed, he'd be out in the town, looking for her himself. But he could barely manage to sit up, let alone standing or running. Curse this! Curse everything! She must be alright, otherwise he wouldn't know what to do. If she was harmed … he'd break apart. Who cared about the future of England, if she wasn't there to see it? He whimpered. If she … if someone … if she wasn't … he couldn't even finish the thought. He wouldn't have it. She would be found, and she would be unharmed. That was all that mattered. Whatever it took, he would see to it.

"Wolsey!" he roared as loudly as his soar body would allow. "Come here this minute if you want to live to see the break of day!"


	23. Chapter 23

"Speak, woman!" Henry demanded. "Speak, or I'll have your tongue cut out!"

The woman was on her knees, her hands in chains. "Your majesty, I dunno anything of all this, I swear on my life."

"If your life were of any value to me, I'd might take your word for it."

"I swear", the woman repeated, crawling closer. Henry took a step backwards, disgusted. "They came to me, she asked about a lady problem, and I told her I couldn't help her. That's all, I swear, you have to believe me, your majesty!"

"And then Lord Brandon was on the ground, his sword still in its sheath, and the young woman disappeared without a sign? And you'll have me believe that?" He shook his head. Her lies were as see-through as a whore's virtue. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"No, your majesty. But I speak the truth, I swear!"

Henry studied his hand. "You are a cunning woman – speaking the truth is not something that you are capable of. I know that you practice magic, but since you've helped my wife in her efforts of baring a child, how futile they may be, I have so far chosen to ignore that." He looked down on the filthy woman, her mouth only containing a few rotten teeth and her skin scarred and spotted. He placed his boot on her hands, pressing them to the stone floor. "However, imagine what would happen if someone were to suspect that perhaps you put a curse on her, and that is in fact why she is barren."

"My king", the woman begged. "I've only ever served you and your queen and tried to help. That's the truth!"

"That might be correct, but you are still lying about Lord Brandon and the girl. Now, tell me. The. Truth." With every word, he pressed the boot a bit harder, and the peasant let out a cry.

"She … the girl … she asked me knew I magic", she cried out. "That's the god's honest truth, your majesty. She wanted magic, but I turned her away, and told her I don't deal with that sort of thing. Told her to keep her mouth shut, and leave me alone. I swear."

Henry kicked the woman hard enough to make her fall over. It hurt his wounded stomach, but he didn't care. _"More lies." _He wanted to hurt her even more, because this time, it didn't sound as much as a lie. Still, it was obvious that that was what is was. But it wasn't worthy of a king to do so, and there was nothing more for him there. He turned around, gesturing for the guard to open the door to the cell. He looked over his shoulder on the woman. "I'll be back, and I suggest you think long and hard about what you'll say to me then, or I'll have you punished as the witch that you are."

When the door was closed behind him, he told the guard: "Make certain that she has enough water, so that she is fit to speak when I return." The guard nodded. "And send word for Lord Malfoy. I want reports from other witnesses."

Henry tried to act casually as he walked away, but the wound was hurting like hell, and he could hardly think straight. Several times he had to stop and lean against the walls, in order to not fall over and faint from the pain. But there was no time for pain or being restricted to bed – he couldn't.

Henry returned to Charles' chambers, but there was still no change, and he was still unconscious. He looked unharmed, as there were no bruises or wounds – no actual signs of him being unwell, other than that he wouldn't wake up. It must be magic, Henry thought.

"Charles", he said quietly, sitting on a chair next to the bed. "What happened?" He hesitated. _"Where is she?" _

There was a soft cry from outside the door, followed by a low hush.

"No, girls, you cannot see your father", a woman said harshly. "The king is in there, and you mustn't enter."

Henry nodded at the guard. "Let them in, I allow it."

The guard did is he was told, and Henry could see a surprised woman around forty years of age, holding back two young girls. Charles' daughter, Anne and Mary.

"Let them in", Henry repeated. The woman looked as if she didn't know what to think of it, but after a few seconds, she did.

The girls – Anne around five, and Mary no older than two – toddled in, Anne first with Mary's hand in hers. Mary's round face was covered with tears that the woman hastily had tried to wipe away, but Anne's slightly older face was stern.

"Come here", Henry said. "It is alright."

They went up to the side of the bed, standing by their father's head. The baby could barely reach to see. "Is he sleeping?" the older girl asked. "Like … like mother?" Her little sister's eyes started tearing up.

Henry felt a sting in his heart. "No, not like your mother", he answered. "Your father will wake again, he is just tired, that is all." He picked up the little girl (the wound hurting again as he did so, but he showed no sign of it) and put her on the bed so she could see her father, and he took the other's hand. Seeing Charles like this, Henry was reminded of two of the deathbeds he'd been sitting next to as a child – his brother's, and his mother's, within a year of each other. It was not a fate he wished for anyone, especially not two innocent young girls who hadn't even lived a decade.

"Your father will wake, and I will find whoever did this to him", he said, kissing them gently on their soft hair. "And I will punish them, I promise you."

… … …

"How far is it?", Hermione whispered, feeling like a child asking its parents if they were there yet. They'd been walking for over twenty minutes, and travelling under an invisibility cloak wasn't the most comfortable means of transportation. The boy was much shorter than her, probably no older than eleven, and she had to hunch her back in order for her feet to not show.

"We're almost there", the boy answered in a voice so low she could hardly hear it. "We can't risk having anyone following us."

Hermione knew that was true. By now, the word must've reached the castle, and she didn't want to think about what it might say. But Henry would find out, one way or another – if not now, then as soon as the charm was lifted off Charles. And then he'd know … then he'd know who she truly was. Then he'd have a reason to get rid of her. But would he? Would he have her hunted down, or would he let her go?

… she'd attacked Charles, she reminded herself. There was no way Henry would let her get away with that. He'd have her imprisoned, and then … she didn't want to think about it. Couldn't. But she knew that he'd probably prove himself to be more like the person he was said to be in the history books, and that was not something she ever wanted to experience.

Oh, Merlin, what had she gotten herself into?

"_Alohomora_", the boy whispered, and the word made her want to hug him. He opened the door, and urged her to step inside. They were still under the cloak when he peered outside, probably checking for followers, and then he shut the door tightly, and whispered _colloportus. _The lock clicked.

He swung the cloak off their shoulders, and looked around in the dark. "Master Aubrey?" he called out in a low tone of voice.

"Ambrose, the windows are covered and the house secure. We can speak freely", someone said. "_Lumos._" A light source flickered in the other end of the room – a wand, belonging to a familiar man.

"You're the man who asked about my cat", Hermione noted.

"Indeed I am. But we both know that that isn't an ordinary cat, just as you are no ordinary girl", the man answered. "I am Alwyn Aubrey, and this young boy is my apprentice, Ambrose Peverell."

Hermione smiled at the familiar feeling of the somewhat odd-sounding wizard names. "My name's Hermione Granger."

"I know", the man answered. "You are well-known."

"I had to bring her, master Aubrey", the young boy interrupted. "She exposed her magic in the middle of a crowd."

"I feared as much. Were you seen?" The man was dressed in rugged clothes and looked an awful lot as if he hadn't showered in a week or more.

"Possibly. There were two men, but she stupefied them before I showed myself."

"Who were the men?"

"Only two drunkards …", Ambrose said hesitantly.

"Good", he said at first, but then he seemed to notice the boy's silence. "… but?"

"That was not the first exposure."

The older man lifted his eyebrows, and Hermione felt blood rushing to her cheeks. "I stupefied Lord Brandon as well", she said, feeling incredibly stupid.

"Merlin", Alwyn said, grasping for his chest. "That is … that is unacceptable, child!" He looked at her. "Magic in front of muggles is only acceptable if they are trustworthy, and let me inform you that a member of the royal court is _no such thing_."

"I know", Hermione said, squeezing her eyes shut. The embarrassment was too much to handle. How could she, Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of her age, have done something so stupid? She opened her eyes again. "Wait", she said, looking at the boy. "How did you know that? You weren't there, were you?"

Ambrose lifted the invisibility cloak as an answer.

"Ah", said Hermione, feeling stupid again. It was becoming an habit, and she didn't like it at all.

"I've had him follow you ever since the word came out of a young woman stealing the young king's heart, and making him look for an hourglass", Alwyn said. "Seems it was lucky that I did."

"You had me followed?" Hermione blushed again, more fiercely this time. She could probably be mistaken for a London telephone booth, if they'd been invented, that was. "Everywhere?"

"Not into your bed chambers, obviously", the man answered. "But otherwise, yes. How was I else to know if you were only a Muggle girl with a half-Kneazle and a stick in her boot, or an actual witch?"

"You could have asked me!" Hermione said.

"Could I, now? Asking someone connected to court whether they practice magic or not is something that most likely will land the questioner in prison. Then I suppose, given the situation you are in, this might not have occurred to you."

Hermione felt like stomping her leg, screaming _I am intelligent, _but obviously, she didn't, because obviously, he was right.

"Well, now you know. Now what?"

"We have a lot of problems to attend to", the man said. "I'm not certain you are aware of the proportions of the situation. But firstly, I'd like for you to explain to me what this is."

He reached for a chain around his neck, and pulled it over his head. Then he handed out the object so she could see. It glimmered in the light from the wand, casting golden specks on the dark wooden walls.

It was the Time Turner.


	24. Chapter 24

"Oh my god," Hermione said. "Put that down before something happens!"

Alwyn raised his eyebrows, but did as she'd said, and put the object on a table nearby. "May I ask what sort of thing might occur otherwise? Is it a time controlled Portkey, perhaps? Or is it hexed?"

"Where did you find it?" It wasn't like her, ignoring a question like that (especially one she knew the answer to), but she couldn't help herself.

The man sat down on a chair. "Crookshanks brought it to me, some time ago."

"Wait. He was here? Why?" She felt betrayed, somehow. If Crookshanks had had the Time-Turner, why hadn't he brought it to her?

"Perhaps he thought me capable of helping," Alwyn answered. "But alas, I fail to even know what it is. So, if you will enlighten me, please."

She nodded, slowly. "It's a Time-Turner." For some reason she almost whispered.

"A what?"

"A Time-Turner, master Aubrey," Ambrose said quite loudly.

"I heard her the first time, boy," the older man said. "What I'd like to know is what this so called Time-Turner _does."_

Hermione walked closer to the table, her eyes on the hourglass-shaped thing that had caused her so much trouble. "The Time-Turner is a device that makes its owner capable of time travel," she said, quoting one of the text books she'd been given along with it.

"I have never heard of such a thing," Alwyn said.

"Well," she laughed nervously. "That's probably because it's not invented yet. It was invented in 1733 by Madden Malyneux."

"_Was _invented? In _1733?"_ Alwyn repeated without taking his eyes off her.

"But that's more than two hundred years into the future!" the boy interrupted.

"Observant as ever, Ambrose." He still wouldn't look away from Hermione. "Young girl, there seems as if you have a lot to tell us."

… … …

"Your majesty, my educated presumption is that Lord Brandon is in a coma, due to an excess of internal phlegm, causing an imbalance in his body." The royal physician, Thomas Linacre, stepped away from the bed, and gestured to a nurse to cover up Charles' exposed torso. "Since there is no physical evidence on his body, this is the only solution."

"Linacre, you know that I regard you highly," Henry said, breathing through his teeth. "But any fool can see that Brandon is in a comatose state. What I want to know is _who _caused this so called 'imbalance,' and when he is going to wake up."

"That, I'm afraid, I cannot say. It could be days, weeks even … phlegmatic excess is most commonly cured through dietary changes, and since Lord Brandon is unable to partake any food at the moment, I–"

"Linacre," Henry interrupted, having to control himself from bursting. "He needs to wake up _now. _I don't care what you have to do in order for it to happen – just get it done."

The physician lowered his head. "As you wish, your majesty. There happens to be other ways, such as emesis, which would rid him of the excess phlegm – it is of course much more dangerous, but–"

"What–" he interrupted again "–is emesis?

"Therapeutic vomiting, your majesty," the physician answered.

He made a face, feeling sick at the thought. "Well. Then get it done."

The man nodded. "Of course, you majesty. Right away. I shall merely acquire the right instruments."

Henry sighed as the physician left the room. He might not be educated in medicine, but it did not seem likely that the physician's suggestion would wake Charles up anymore than it would make _her _appear out of thin air in front of him. And still he hoped that she would.

... ... ...

Hermione had told them everything – well, that was, everything Alwyn needed to know to be able to help her. Everything regarding Henry she'd kept to herself, even though she had a feeling that Peverell boy knew more than she'd want him to. She'd told them how Crookshanks had found the Time-Turner in her trunk, how it shouldn't have been possible to travel anymore than a couple of days back in time, tops. She told them how she'd still ended up more than 500 years before she was even born, and how that must have messed up the mechanism of the final location, since she'd ended up in the south of England, rather than at Hogwarts.

Alwyn spoke. "It seems to me, from what you have told us, that when one uses this Time-Turner, one would end up where one's former self was at the time one returned to." Hermione nodded. "And given – Merlin have mercy – that you weren't born until 1979, such a thing would be impossible in a case like this."

"I just can't understand how I could've ended up so far back", Hermione said and shook her head. "It just doesn't make sense."

"Perhaps your half-Kneazle had something to do with it", the old man suggested. "Animals should not interfere with magic meant for wizards and witches, and magical animals particularly not so."

Hermione blushed, as she remembered the days she'd had to spend in the Hospital Wing after accidently putting cat hair into her polyjuice potion. "Trust me, I know."

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask. "As for your re-location, might it not be because one of your ancestors resides here? I mean, if you are nowhere to be found, perhaps the magic saw it suitable to found whomever should be closest to you."

"Maybe", she said, but she didn't really want to think anymore about it. Past ancestors ... that could be _anyone._ "Well, never mind that. Would you maybe know anyone who could fix it?" she asked.

"Fix an object that has yet to be invented? T'is no small thing you demand, girl."

"I know", she said and brushed the hair that had escaped from her hairdo away from her face. "But what options do I have? Charles … Lord Brandon's going to wake up any moment now. Stunning spells don't last that long."

"Well, there aren't many wizards in the capital, because of the suspicious royals. And it would be rather unwise to apparate around Britain asking about time travel."

"So I'm stuck?" Hermione couldn't hide the self-pity in her voice.

"That I haven't said. There's one place where we might be able to find you some help, and where your secret would be safe."

"Where?" she asked in a low tone-of-voice.

"Hogwarts."

… … …

"You asked for me, your majesty?" Felicius Malfoy walked into Charles' chamber.

"Yes", said Henry. "Have you interrogated any of the eye-witnesses yet?"

"Indeed I have," the blonde man answered, but still he was dressed as if though he was going to a royal wedding. "Still, I fear that none of them seem very trustworthy, your majesty. But what can one expect from simple peasants, really?"

"They might surprise you", said Henry. He was looking at Charles, who still hadn't even moved an inch, but of course, he was thinking of someone completely different. His fists tightened around Charles' bed linen. Where was she? What had happened?

Lord Malfoy cleared his throat. "How is Lord Brandon? Any improvement?"

"None whatsoever. Dr. Linacre appears to be as lost as the rest. He suggested emesis, but I highly doubt that Brandon's state is caused by an inner imbalance. Someone brought this upon him, I know it."

"I believe you, your majesty. The question is who ... and why."

Henry spoke up, louder than he 'd intended. "I think it's the girl."

"What, your majesty?"

He closed his eyes, trying not to wince as he said her name. "The girl. Miss Granger. Someone's after her, I'm sure of it. She's not who she has pretended to be." Maybe that was why, he thought … maybe she'd wanted to be with him as well, but it had been too dangerous. Or maybe not.

"Maybe you're right. But how shall we know?"

"Charles must've seen something." Henry turned towards Malfoy. "Why else would they have done this to him?"

"I wouldn't know … but maybe we need to leave his fate in the hands of God." Malfoy walked closer to the bed.

His eyes narrowed. "No. We'll do all that we possibly can before that."

Malfoy shook his head. "I meant not to abandon him … but simply to pray. My family has always had a special bond with God and the saints – almost all of us die only from old age, and not from decease or misfortune."

That was true, Henry thought, but he suspected that it had more to do with money and an ability to stay out of dangerous situations rather than because of God. Henry's faith was strong, but he wasn't foolish enough to see that all the Malfoys were turncoats.

"Perhaps you should join me?" Malfoy said. "You are after all chosen by God himself."

Reluctantly Henry folded his hands and closed his eyes, starting to recite the first prayer he came to think of. "Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come …"

He mumbled the words, almost afraid to trouble the Lord in this matter – he was still conflicted whether God truly had forgiven him for his sidesteps, even though he'd repented over and over again, and perhaps God would seem it fit to punish him even further, rather than help him.

Malfoy was praying in French, the man's mother's tongue, but there were words in some other language in there as well – some vulgar form of Latin, it seemed. And then a flash of white. Henry rubbed his temples – he really needed to get some rest. Seeing flashes was never a good sign.

As someone clutched his arm, he opened his eyes. The fingers buried in his flesh belonged to Charles, whose eyes had opened. He coughed, trying to speak, it seemed.

"You're awake!" Henry laughed in surprise, thinking that maybe God had forgiven him after all. Then he remembered why his friend's awakening had been so important, and he wasn't so sure anymore.

"T'is a miracle", Malfoy said, with his constant expression of boredom on his face.

"It truly is. You were as good as dead! – Malfoy, you can expect to be greatly rewarded for this." Malfoy nodded, and Henry turned back to Charles. "Now, where's … the girl you were supposed to look after?"

"It's no miracle!" Charles hissed. "I was perfectly fine, but trapped inside my own body". Charles forced himself up in a sitting position. _"Because of magic."_

"I think you need to rest, Lord Brandon", Henry said, suddenly tired again. When would this talk of magic stop? "But first you must tell me what truly happened. And what happened to … miss Granger?"

Charles shook his head. "You understand not what I try to tell you. _She used magic."_

Henry couldn't ignore the look on his friend's face. He knew that face, had gambled and betted with that face in mind many times. He knew when Charles lied … and he knew when Charles spoke the truth. This was the truth.

"The old woman?" he asked, slowly putting two and two together. "We already have her imprisoned. But … what has she done to Hermione? If she is hurt, I swear to God that I shall kill her and everyone she has ever known."

Charles shook his head again. "No. Not the old hag. It was _Hermione _who did it. _She's a witch."_

Henry struck his friend hard across the cheek before he could help himself (but it seemed to hurt himself more than Charles, because of the injury in his stomach. He tried to hide it, but failed rather badly). "I warn you, Charles … you may be confused after your injury, but I will not have you speaking ill of her."

Malfoy cleared his throat. "I'm not certain that he is, your majesty. See, when I talked to the witnesses, they all said the same thing."

"And what was that?" Henry said in a cold voice.

Malfoy looked him in the eye. "That it was the girl who brought Lord Brandon to the ground. Holding a wand in her hand, sparkling red." He paused, only for a second. "I'm afraid, your majesty, that that girl has fooled you, trying to lure herself into the castle, into power."

Henry's voice didn't feel like his own, nor his hands or lips or limbs like they belonged to his body. "What are you saying?" he asked, almost whispering.

Charles was the one who answered, and surely, now, while he was sitting, there wasn't any sign of illness on his face. He looked at Henry, not a single trace of doubt in his voice or posture.

He spoke again, slowly, repeating his words once more.

"Hermione Granger is a witch."


	25. Chapter 25

Henry didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was conclusive. There were several eye-witnesses, including Charles, a close and trusted friend. The accusation would also explain several mysteries, such as the girl's manifestation in the well-guarded royal garden and the affection she had woken in him, despite her trivial looks, unorthodox behaviour and lack of knowledge in royal etiquette.

So. Granger was a witch. She had lied to him and tricked him in some devilish scheme, toyed with his emotions only to secure her way into the most powerful stead in the kingdom. This wasn't something uncommon in his world. People lied to him every day. Mostly he could see through those lies, but sometimes, he had to admit, he had been tricked.

This time, however, it was different. This girl ... a commoner, a nobody and, frankly, an abomination of nature, had not only tricked his mind, but also sneaked her way into his heart. With cunning words, scheming actions and the filthy ways of magic she had made sure to secure a place where no other human being had had one since the death of his mother or brother. And it had all been a lie. A trick and an illusion. The deceiving magic, filling his lungs and blood and brain like a decease. He could not forgive that. She'd probably been the one hexing him during the melee as well, causing him to be injured. It was all her fault.

He crumpled the paper in his hand and tossed it into the fire, watching the flames licking the paper and deforming its golden structure into a lump of black coal. He wanted to see her burn like that, her skin turning into black, cracked coal.

He would find her, and he would punish her the only way fit for the crime of high treason against the sovereign. Through hours and hours of torture, where her screams would echo in an icy cold and damp chamber, and then, when her voice was too horse to be heard, she would meet death. Slowly and painfully she'd leave this world, through a careful hanging that ensured her neck's well-being, resulting in her lungs being cut from the precious air that kept her alive, while people watched her suffocate to death. Her feet would tremble, her white skin turn blue, and her devious eyes would be filled with fear and remorse as she looked at him one last time. And that's when they'd start the fire beneath her.

And then she, and every other citizen of his kingdom would know what happened to those who deceived their king.

... ... ...

Hermione looked into the fire, where the flames slowly turned the tree logs into charcoal. She watched the young boy, Ambrose, taking a handful of a silvery powder from an urn, and throwing it into the fireplace. The flames turned from orange to green, and somehow, even though the fire burned brighter than before, it no longer harmed the tree logs.

"Remember ...", Alwyn started.

"... _enunciate",_ Ambrose echoed with a sigh. "I know, master."

"Well, one can never be too careful", the old man said. "Once ..."

"You ended up in the home of Hortense Claridge, when you really wanted to go to The Horseless Carriage. I KNOW."

"It was most embarrassing, I'll have you know. I caught a glimpse of her ankle."

Ambrose sighed again. "I won't be making that mistake. Now, can I go?"

Alwyn nodded. "Yes, yes, of course. We mustn't keep young miss Granger waiting."

Hermione smiled, as if to say that they shouldn't worry about her. However, on the inside, she was a wreck. Charles was probably awake by now, and it wouldn't take long before he had a chance to tell Henry what he'd seen. And by then ... well, it was safe to say that Hermione didn't want to be anywhere near Henry when he found out.

The boy stepped into the flames of the fireplace, but they didn't harm him in any way. He cleared his throat, and said loudly: "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" He disappeared with a bang, and the flames regained their original orange colour.

The old man turned to Hermione. "And now t'is your turn, miss. You have used floo powder before, I take it?"

"Yes." She took a handful of powder, and was about to throw it into the fire, when there was a knock on the door.

Alwyn put his finger in front of his lips, and mimed the words "not home". Hermione nodded in silence, covering the powder in the palm of her hand.

The banging on the door continued, more fiercely this time. There was a voice who accompanied it. "Old fool, we know you're in there. We can see the smoke from the chimney."

Alwyn stiffened. "Go", he said in a low tone of voice. "Now."

"But ..."

The voice spoke again. "_Green_ smoke, mister Aubrey. Open this door now, or we'll do it for you."

"Go!" Alwyn repeated, with his wand in his hand.

Hermione nodded, trying not to shake as she threw the powder into the fire. She took a deep breath, and then exclaimed, as loudly as she dared: "H-hogwarts!"

... ... ...

"Your majesty. Your majesty!" A young guard knocked on the door to Henry's chamber.

_"Yes?" _Henry said. "Any news? Has she been found?"

"No, your majesty", the man answered.

"Then why..."

"There has been another sighting of magic, your majesty. And more casualties."

Henry's fists clenched. "Where?"

"By the old fool Aubrey's house a few miles from here. There was green smoke coming out of the chimney, which one of the guards was sent to the castle to report, and when he returned to the scene, the other two guards lay unconscious on the ground."

He gritted his teeth. "Just like lord Brandon, then."

"Yes, your majesty."

"And no one was longer in the building, I presume?"

"No, your majesty."

"I want people looking for her and the old man in every corner of the city, is that clear? Day and night. And be certain that my mood shall not improve until she is found. Now, be gone."

"Yes, your majesty." The man took a bow and then removed himself from the room.

... ... ...

"Say, what called you this object?" an old man with an impressive white beard and a pointy green hat, shaped like a pine cone, asked Hermione.

"A Time-Turner", she said.

"And if I've understood you correctly, it allows those who know magic to travel through space and time? And that should explain why you claim to be from the twentieth century?"

She nodded. "Yes. Only, now it's broken."

The man stroke his beard while thinking. It was interesting to see how little had changed in the magical society in these five-hundred years that had passed (or would come to pass – these things still made her dizzy), such as fashion trends, and interior decors. Hermione had never been into the headmaster's office before, but she suspected it would look more or less the same under the reign of Professor Dumbledore as it did with Professor Fytherley Undercliffe, with all the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses on the walls, and all the little trinkets that spun around and gave away sparkles all over the room.

"Have you any proof that what you speak is the truth, young girl?" the man wanted to know.

"I'd be willing to drink Verita Serum to prove it, sir."

"That would prove nothing but that you yourself believe in your stories, miss."

Hermione blushed, but shrugged it off. "Do you know Legilimency, then? You could see my memories for yourself." She straightened her back. "Memories of a Muggle community far beyond this you've seen here, and in many ways even more advanced than the Wizarding world."

"Now I know that you play the jester with me. Muggles more advanced than wizards? It sounds to me that you have you escaped from Lovegood's Lunatarium."

"I'm telling the truth!" Hermione cried out. "You were speaking of Lovegood? I know his descendant, Luna. And her father, Xenophilius Lovegood, editor of the Quibbler. They live in Ottery St. Catchpole, not too far from the Weasleys – Arthur and Molly, Percival, William, Charles, Fred and George, Ronald and Ginevra."

"That you know names of wizarding families proves nothing, I'm afraid. My dear, what you speak of is impossible."

She crossed her arms. "Wizards thought the same thing of floo powder three hundred years ago."

"But this is time tampering we are talking of. It's no light matter."

"Well, fine. Do you want to know the future? I'll tell you." Hermione racked her brain for all the things she'd read about the 16th century, never knowing how much would depend on it. "In 1527, it will be the last time anyone sees a basilisk in any British lakes. That same year, the king will propose to Anne Boleyn, after having divorced queen Catherine, and Anne will be queen. She will die nine years later, but you won't live to see it, since you die in 1531." She paused, looking at the headmaster. "Should I continue?"

Undercliffe crossed his fingers, seemingly unaffected by his own death sentence. "Please do."

She took a deep breath. "In 1542, the king will pass an act against witchcraft, thus making it into a felony to perform magic, and in 1689, an international wizarding law known as the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy will pass, making it illegal to perform magic in front of Muggles, in order to safeguard the wizarding community from Muggles. All of this will form ideas of purebloods and mudbloods, ultimately leading to the first Wizarding War in 1970."

"You understand that none of this prove anything? That this might as well just be the product of your imagination?"

"Look. I understand that you don't believe me - I know it's much to take in. But all I ask is that you, or any member of your staff, take a look at it, and try to figure out what it is that's broken. Why would you say no to such a small favour?"

"Because it is a waste of my time, miss Granger. There is no way on earth that what you tell me is the truth, and I will hear no more on the subject. Now, please make your exit from my office."

"But why would I lie?" she exclaimed. "What on earth could I possibly gain on it?"

"Attention. Fame. Money."

She stood up. "I don't want any of that! I just want to live an ordinary life, where I study and work hard, and I'm not constantly risking my life. Is that too much to ask?!" She took the Time-Turner in its chain from the headmaster's desk. "Well, if it's someone's time that has been wasted, it's mine, just like being stuck in this misogynist time period will continue to do. I guess I'll just have to fix this for myself." She stormed out of the office and slammed the door shut behind her.

"Miss Granger?" Alwyn Aubrey came walking towards her. "What news of your device?"

"Nothing. That man is the worst excuse for a teacher I've ever met. I'm going to the library."

He cleared his throat.

"What?"

"Well. Technically, since you're not a student of this school, you are not allowed. Technically, since the headmaster wouldn't help you, I'm obliged to escort you away from here."

Hermione closed her eyes. "I _am _a student here", she said in a low tone of voice, and then she proceeded towards the library without looking back.


	26. Chapter 26

The moment Hermione came into the library, it was as if she could breathe. There was a certain smell in there, a smell of parchment and leather-bound books, and it relaxed her shoulders as it filled her lunges. She hadn't even been aware of how tense she was. Stopping, she took a couple of deep breaths, focusing. In her own time, there would have been several books to get her back into the theories of time travelling, but now she would have to start from the beginning. She went straight to the section where she'd spent (or would be spending – Merlin, she _hated_ paradoxes) several hours browsing through the encyclopaedias. Luckily, not much had changed – _would_ change – over the next 483 years later.

It was a weird thing, picking up books so old, with most of them still being completely intact. No dog eared pages, no magically fixed spines (Madame Pince was excellent with transfiguration spells, but Hermione could still tell), and the pages were crisp, not yet yellowed by time. She handled them like the treasures they were, as she brought them to a secluded desk in a far off corner. There were only a few other students in there, but you could never be too careful.

"Lumos," she whispered, with a thrill down her spine. She'd missed magic. She'd missed this library. She'd missed Hogwarts.

She wiped her palms on her dress before opening the first book, _The Encyclopaedia of Occult Philosophies. _Skimming through the index _(Tibethan Throat Singing and its Use for Ridding Yetis;_ _Tickelish Dragons – a Guide to Proper Conduct; Tilting at Winged Melusines; Timid Tiger Lilies – How To Persuade Them into Growing Fangs)_, she soon came to the part about time travel. It was a disappointment, to say the least.

_"For he who knoweth his Wand, it is a Possibility to Travel to any Place in the World; it is also Possible to Freeze Time, in a sense, for those Gifted enough. However, despite Numerous Attempts and Research by those willing to Risk their names, it would seem to be Impossible to Travel through Time, be it Back or Forth. If Thou hath an interest to know the Future, see The Philosopher's Stone; an interest to see what has past, see Pensieve."_

"Um, miss Granger?"

Hermione glimpsed up to see the young boy, Ambrose. "Yes?" She continued to read before he opened his mouth.

"We've been ordered to leave," he said.

"Soon," she answered, then looked back at him. She straightened a bit. "How old are you?"

"Um, twelve, miss."

"Then aren't you a student here? Which means you're allowed to be here?"

The boy shook his dark hair. "No, I'm being homeschooled by Master Aubrey."

"Oh," Hermione said, leaning back again. "Well, never mind then. I'm almost done," she said as she put the book away, opening another. As Ambrose sat down, she read about proper time utilization, time reduction, time expansion, freezing time and umpteen other time related texts, but whenever time travelling was mentioned, it was disregarded just as quickly. She started to realise that she wouldn't find what she needed here – apparently, time travelling was considered to be much too dangerous to be discussed seriously. Which obviously meant that someone was bound to have written a full-length dissertation on it – only, it'd be in the restricted section (unlike several curses she'd just come across, causing pain, disease and even death, which apparently was appropriate reading for teenagers). Stretching her back, Hermione tried to see where the librarian (who still hadn't shown their presence) was at. Technically, she had a note signed by several professors allowing her in there, but seeing as none of them were born yet, she guessed it wouldn't do her much good.

"Ambrose," she said.

"Yes, miss?"

She lowered her voice. "Did you bring your invisibility cloak?" He shook his head. Sighing, she said: "Take it from me – _always_ bring it. Always." Returning the books she'd picked out with a flick of her wand to their shelves, she tried to think of another solution.

"Why'd you want it?" he asked.

"I think, maybe, there's something in the restricted section," she whispered. "So perhaps ... you could distract the librarian while I try to sneak in there?"

"That sounds like a bad idea," Ambrose said, reminding Hermione that not everyone was as reckless as Harry or Ron. Right now, she rather missed it. "Can't we just leave?" he asked.

"I need to get home, Ambrose, and this might be my only chance. So please?"

Somehow, her plead seemed to work. "Alright," he said. "Ten minutes. Then you best be out of there."

She nodded, while Ambrose took a random book from a shelf, snuck it under his cloak and headed towards the exit. As a shrieking alarm went off the second he put a foot outside the library, Hermione hurried behind the rope cutting off the restricted section.

... ... ...

It had been a long day, but it did not seem to be over for quite some time. He did not want to admit it, even though he had been badly hurt, but all he wanted to do was to sleep. However, whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was her.

"'Enri, are you alright?" Katherine. Wonderful, the last person on earth he wanted to see at this moment.

He looked at the wall ahead of him, rather than at her. "Let me see – I've been severely wounded in the melee, Brandon and several of my men have been attacked, and there's a witch on the loose, and you ask me whether I am alright?"

"Forgive me, your majesty," she said, curtsying. "I simply wanted to see you, to let you know that you are in my prayers."

He glanced at her, her face full of worry. She truly cared for him, despite his treatment of her lately. It made him sick.

"You understand, that even though you were right about that ... _wench_, it changes not how I feel about you," he said. "Even if there is no one else, I shall never love you."

"My feelings for you are independent of your feelings for me," she answered. "You are my 'usband, and I shall always love you. You may not love me, but I know that you care. You are not a 'eartless man."

He looked away. Maybe he wasn't, but he wished he were. Because ... magic or not, he'd truly fallen for that girl. And magic or not, her betrayal hurt him more than he could fathom. And all he wanted was for those feelings to go away. To drench them with other sensations, bury them deep inside to never look at or think of again.

He reached out his hand, still not looking at his wife. It took her a few seconds before she came closer, taking his hand and putting it to her lips. He dragged her onto the bed with him. The pull hurt his stomach and almost made him wince, but he clenched his jaws, determined not to show any weakness. Still not looking at her face, he pulled her skirt up, releasing her legs from the layers and layers of fabric.

She put a hand on his chest. "Should we really ...? You are still injured."

"Be quiet," was all he said, his mind preoccupied with things he was determined to forget.


	27. Chapter 27

Hermione was sitting in a corner on the floor, hidden by book shelves. She'd put a repelling spell around the place, which should avert anyone who came her way, and give her enough time to look through any book that might help her. There was an entire section on time travel, but unfortunately, the spells didn't seem very reliable, and most of them regarded minutes rather than hundreds of years.

_Ambulo tempore – spell for impatient wizards. Draw a Circle with thy Wand while chanting Ambulo Tempore – Time shall speed up for as long as thou circles thy Wand._

She'd die before the 18th century doing that. She changed the page.

_Ancient Indian Time Travel Spell. Draw a Triangle on the Floor with thy Wand and step into it. While doing a triangular Shape with thy Wand, chant: Omnis Verto Masvenit Pro Redintegro Pro Elista, and imagine in front of thine Eyes the Place which Thou wisheth to visit._

This seemed a bit too much like Divination to her, to be honest, and if it worked, it would probably only get her more lost in time.

_Time Travel Potion – taketh a human Heart … _Hermione decided to put the book away.

It all seemed useless – no matter how smart she was, she wasn't going to be able to puzzle together pieces it would take other wizards and witches another three hundred years to do. But she wasn't prepared to stay here, either. It wasn't simply that she _wanted _to go back home, but she was needed there as well. Harry and Ron were bound to do something reckless without her, which probably meant that you-know-who … she stopped the thought from taking form.

"Miss Granger," someone said, interrupting her.

Hermione looked up, worry mixed with disappointment that her repelling spell hadn't worked. "Who's there?" The aisle looked empty, but knowing Hogwarts, that didn't necessarily mean that no one was there.

"Over here, in the … hmpf … window."

Hermione turned around, looking out through the painted window. Behind the coloured glass was only a grey sky. "I can't see you," she said in a low tone of voice.

"No, not outside. In the painting," the voice said.

Hermione's eyes shifted focus, and now she saw the old woman with the white head cloth and pointy hat, making room for herself in the glass painting of some even older wizard holding a book.

"Would you kindly make some room?" the painted woman asked the man, who in an annoyed manner tossed his head and marched out of the frame.

"Who are you?" Hermione asked, ready with her wand if the portrait decided to snitch.

"I am professor Edessa Sakndenberg, former ..."

"Headmistress of Hogwarts until 1503 ," Hermione finished. "I know of you."

"I heard your conversation with that nitwit Undercliffe in my ... or that is, _his_ office. And I am here to guide you towards something that might be of service."

Hermione put her book down. "Really?"

The woman nodded. "Your tale reminded me of a peculiar story that a co-worker of mine came across in her studies. But perhaps this is not the most suitable place for us to have this conversation, and anyway, it's our professor of Magical Theory, Professor von Heidekräuterdorf, who knows the case the best."

"That's, that's great!" Hermione said, getting up on her feet. "Where is he? She?"

"She resides near the Ravenclaw tower, but worry not, I shall take you straight to her. Put away those books, and follow me."

... ... ...

Henry ordered Catherine away the minute he was done with her, his injury keeping him from enjoying her presence in his bed thoroughly.

"It will be a son this time, I know it," she said as she got up, her hair tussled and her lip sporting a cut he barely remembered causing.

"I should hope so," he muttered under his breath. "And fix yourself so no one sees you in this state."

When she close the door behind her, he closed his eyes from the pain the act had caused him. And still, that pain did not drown out the pain inside him, but rather added to the agony.

Yes. What he needed was a son – a sign that God had forgiven him. A son to teach and care for; a son who he would mould into a King. No more feelings where women were concerned, since they had proved to be good for one thing only (and in Catherine's case, barely that).

He found himself thinking of her again. _Hermione. _Once more he thought of the shame and humiliation she'd caused him – turning him from his queen, causing him to lose the melee, making him look weak in front of his subjects, plotting to take his throne. And somehow the pain transformed within him, from an open wound to a fire that fuelled him rather than weakened him. _Hermione. _Her name no longer caused pain, but rage.

He chanted it in his mind, taunting himself, but each time it left his heart somewhat hardened. Never again would she, or anyone else, be able to cause him such pain. _Hermione. _Never again would a woman get in his way.

_Hermione. _

_Hermione. _

_Hermione._

... ... ...

"Edessa, dear, you do understand that that woman was most certainly rightly put in Lovegood's Asylum? And even if it were true, my work is merely _theoretical?" _said Professor von Heidekräuterdorf. She was a middle-aged woman dressed in a lilac robe adorned with amethysts.

"Yes, dear Ermintrude, I am aware, as you are professor of Theoretical Magic," Professor Sakndenberg answered from a portrait on the wall. She was a bit more two-dimensional now compared to the glass version of herself. "But still, here's this girl, claiming the exact same thing. How's that saying now ... once is an coincident, twice is a ...?"

"It's 'once is an accident, twice a coincidence, and thrice a pattern', actually," Professor von Heidekräuterdorf answered. "But I see your point."

"I need help," Hermione interrupted. "Any help. No matter how far-fetched."

"It certainly is far-fetched. Do you know of the case?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Well, in 1402, a woman named Eloise Mintumble appeared in the Ministry of Magic, claiming to be from the year 1899. She was locked up in Lovegood's Asylum, but five days later disappeared mysteriously. She was never heard from again."

"Eloise Mintumble?" Hermione repeated. The name seemed somewhat familiar ... but she couldn't actually place it. "But that means ... that _if _she was telling the truth, she might have been able to return? Doesn't it?"

Professor von Heidekräuterdorf pulled a face. "I am only a theoretician, but most likely, a journey like that will have some serious consequences. Let me show you." The woman pulled out some parchment, which stirred a wave of dust, causing Hermione to sneeze.

"Someone must be thinking about you," the former headmistress said from the portrait on the wall.

"What?" Hermione said.

"Oh, it's a saying amongst muggles when someone sneezes," she explained. "I was a social historian focusing on muggles, you see."

"Oh?" Hermione said, not explaining her own most personal experience of muggles. And even though the woman's profession was the sort of thing that would actually interest her, she'd lost her train of thought. She didn't believe in superstition, but still, she almost wished it had been true. Because that would mean that Henry was thinking about her, missing her ... or maybe plotting to have her neck.

She forced herself to focus on the formulas the professor was scribbling on the parchment.

"Say that one can travel without one's age changing back and forth to match the destination ... a few hours here and there would quickly build up, causing the traveller to age quicker than his peers. If we then consider travelling beyond one's birth or death – and we don't consider the paradoxes it could cause – the actual travelling back will cause time to take its toll. If this Mintumble ever returned to what she claimed was her own time, she would experience some serious consequences. She might not even have been born."

Hermione racked her brain. Mintumble still rang a bell, but she couldn't place it. "So," she said, "what you're saying is, it might be possible for me to go back? But then I might not get born?"

"Or you might hyper-age, making your body five hundred years older in a matter of minutes. There is a reason why all of this is on a purely theoretical level."

Something clicked inside Hermione. Mintumble ... five hundred years old. "The living Mummy," she said out loud. She had to sit down.

It had been a silly article in the Quibbler, about a woman in St. Mungo's about a hundred years ago, who'd supposedly had lived to be five hundred years old. There had been an old black-and-white moving photo of a woman so old her cheeks were hollowed and her hair and skin falling off whenever it was touched. Luna had sworn she was a cursed Mummy from Ancient Egypt, but someone else was certain the woman had been a forty-year-old unmentionable working in the Department of Mysteries at the time ... a woman named Eloise Mintumble.

Tears rose in Hermione's eyes, as she realised that whether she stayed here or not, she'd die before meeting Ron or Harry or her family or anyone she'd ever loved ever again.


	28. Chapter 28

Hermione had been crying for several minutes, and there seemed to be no stopping it.

"There, there," said Professor von Heidekräuderdorf. "Professor Sakndenberg has gone to fetch Mr. Aubrey, and I'm sure that together we shall work something out." She hesitantly put a hand on Hermione's shoulder, but quickly removed it again.

"How?" Hermione asked, her throat hurting. "No matter what, I'll never see my friends or family again."

"Well, that is terrible, of course," the professor said. "But you cannot lose faith. Surely a young woman like you still have things important to you? Hogwarts is here for you if you wish to continue your studies. Or you could find yourself a husband to care for you, and create a new family."

The thought made Hermione even more devastated. As if replacing her friends and family was a solution. "They won't even know what happened to me," Hermione cried silently.

"Well … you could try to leave them a message of sorts," von Heidekräuterdorf suggested. "Somewhere where you know your acquaintances would see it."

Hermione sniffed, but wiped her tears. "A message? Like writing on a wall?"

"Well, that could be possible, but you must consider the paradox impossibility – if you write the message on a wall where, in the future, you've never seen it, the message itself will not last until that future."

"It would be erased, somehow," Hermione realised.

"Exactly. Maybe someone would paint it over, or the wall is rebuilt. So the message needs to be somewhere inconspicuous enough for it to go unnoticed, until they actually start searching for you. And it needs to be something that will last for almost five-hundred years."

Hermione racked her brain. To leave a message in the boys' dorm would be useless, since they would have seen in under the five years they'd been staying there ... but maybe it wasn't Harry or Ron she should try to contact. The three of them had this weird tendency, she realised, of wanting to clean up their own messes, even though the more intelligent choice would have been to get help from the professors at school. But then again, that might create a paradox – if she for example addressed Professor McGonagall for help, the professor would see that message as soon as she started working at Hogwarts. Then, knowing the sort of mess Hermione would end up in, McGonagall wouldn't have granted the thirteen-year-old Hermione access to the Time Turner in the first place. Which meant that if Hermione tried to contact McGonagall, she'd either not end up here at all, or the message wouldn't get through.

What she needed was a professor that would let her mess up, but who'd still be willing to help her get out of that mess when she needed it. The answer was clear – Professor Dumbledore.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I need to get back into the Headmaster's office. Without him knowing it."

Professor von Heidekräuterdorf smiled, obviously happy that Hermione had stopped crying, and then tsk-ed. "That shouldn't be too hard," she said.

... ... ...

Professor von Heidekräuterdorf lured the headmaster away with an excuse that she needed his assistance in a pressing matter, and before the gargoyle guarding the doorway leapt back, Hermione snuck into the slowly ascending circular staircase. It took her up to the oaken double door, and she hurried inside, no time to waste.

Professor Sakndenberg was still out of her frame, and that was probably just as good, because no matter how nice she seemed, she might have something against Hermione graffiti-ing a room that was already several hundred years old. It actually hurt Hermione a bit thinking about it as well, but she ignored the discomfort.

She already had a message in mind, and she also knew where to put it. She walked passed the bookshelves, hidden drawers and boxes to the headmaster's desk. This message would be right under the nose of Undercliffe, and he'd never even know it. She removed the parchment and quills from the middle of the desk, making enough room to write – not with a quill, but with her wand.

_To Albus Dumbledore  
This is Hermione Granger. On January 18__th__, in 1996, I vanished from the girls' dormitory, due to the involvement of a Time Turner and my half-Kneazle, Crookshanks. Somehow this made both me and him time travel to 1512, where we are currently stuck. I am hoping that you, or someone at the Ministry, might be able to help me._

Hermione paused, looking at the text, shimmering in gold, and then took a breath before finishing the letter.

_I know the fate of Eloise Mintumble … but I am willing to take that risk. I want to see Mum, Dad, Harry and Ron again, even if it is only to say goodbye. And if I don't make it back, please tell them I love them, and that I am sorry._

_Regards,  
Hermione Jean Granger, June 7__th__, 1512_

She lowered her wand, hand shaking, but only gave herself a couple of seconds to pull herself together. This was for the best, she told herself. There was nothing for her here. Even if it hadn't been for the fact that witches and wizards were hunted, and women should be silent, she couldn't imagine never seeing her Mum and Dad again, or Harry or Ron for that matter. Also, there was probably a price on her head by now, and that was a reason for leaving as good as any.

She raised her wand to perform the permanent sticking charm, but hesitated.

Was she really doing the right thing? She was only 16, and should have so much more time ahead of her, whether that was here or somewhere else … And sure, 1512 wasn't the ideal time for a female witch, but again, it wasn't exactly ideal being best friends with Harry Potter in 1996, either. Not that she'd have it any other way, of course. He and Ron were her best friends, and without them, Hogwarts wouldn't have been even half as magical. They'd been through so much she considered them family by now. Never seeing them again would be agonising, but she also knew that they'd rather for her to have a life here, than to die simply to see them one more time.

Thinking about Harry and Ron made her realise something, though – she'd made it through worse troubles than this. And if she decided to stay and live her life here, there was always the possibility of going back to the future when she was older, and would die anyway. It would be terrible, of course, to live here without her family and friends, but it would beat the alternative any day. And maybe she could make a difference here – influencing the world to become the better future she'd known.

She erased the last part of the letter, rewriting it just a bit.

_I know the fate of Eloise Mintumble, and therefore I have decided to stay and live my life here. Please tell Mum, Dad, Ron and Harry that I love them, and take care of them for me. I am so sorry._

With silent tears streaming down her face, she added all the necessary charms to make the message permanent and invisible until the day of her disappearance, four hundred and eighty four years into the future, when professor Dumbledore would hopefully see it.

... ... ...

**AN: in the next chapter, Hermione and Henry will finally be reunited again, just FYI ... however, considering what Henry thinks of her now, maybe she'd be better off if they didn't. Yes, I am evil.**


	29. Chapter 29

"We have made certain that you can stay here at Hogwarts for the remainder of your education," professor von Heidekräuterdorf said to Hermione the next morning. "Professor Undercliffe might not believe your story, but he cannot deny that you are a witch under the age of seventeen, and therefore in every right to take part of the curriculum here."

Alwyn and the boy, Ambrose, were in the room with them. Hermione suspected the old man had something to do with her being able to start at Hogwarts again, him giving his word that she was trust-worthy, even though there weren't any official records of her ever being born.

That was part of the reason to why she nodded in agreement, even though the thought of staying here, without any of her friends, or the professors she'd come to regard as mentors, or even Peeves, who apparently hadn't taken form yet, made her feel like crying again.

Okay, maybe she wouldn't miss Peeves.

"You will have to be resorted – t'is merely a technicality, of course – and then a bed will be arranged in the proper house," the professor continued. "If you have any personal belongings, it falls under your own responsibility to bring them here. But I suppose that won't be necessary, given the circumstances?"

Hermione started shaking her head, until she realized she _had _left something behind. Or rather _someone. _Crookshanks. There was a pain going through her heart ... if those men had done anything to him, she didn't know what she'd do.

"Actually, yes," she said. "I've got to go back." She was already up on her feet, heading for the fireplace in the back of the room.

"Miss Granger, I must strongly advice you not to return." Alwyn stepped in between her and the fireplace. "I only managed to disarm two of the men – the third one disappeared, and by now, there is not a doubt that he has informed the castle of the matter. T'is not safe to be even in the vicinity of that place before the proper precautions have been taken."

"I have to get Crookshanks," Hermione said, her teeth clenched. Was it so hard to understand that he was all she had left?

"Rest assure that he will be nowhere near the area – the ruckus I caused along with those men will have scared him far off."

"We're in a school of magic – I'm sure we can find some sort of location spell that works on magical creatures," Hermione said, crossing her arms. "And if you don't think it's safe to use your fireplace, then I suppose you could always get me there with Side-Along Apparation. Or through a number of different magical transportations. Because I'm not leaving him behind."

Alwyn sighed. "I suppose that you are in the right. I do have to deal with the run-away anyway – obliviate his memory, and anyone else he might have gone babbling off to. And that'll probably be the entire castle and half of the town folks, if I'm not mistaken."

"I'll help you!" Ambrose called out with an enthusiastic smile.

"You are staying here, young boy, until I've got everything figured out," Alwyn said. "I'd actually advice you to do the same, Miss Granger, but I am uncertain of whether the half-Kneazle still trusts me as of right now, and I do have more urgent matters to take care of than to arrange a search party."

... ... ...

Alwyn hadn't been kidding when he'd talked about "taking proper precautions" – he'd transformed both his own and Hermione's facial features beyond recognition (Hermione now had flat, mousy hair, grey eyes, and a round face that made her think of Neville). Alwyn had also put a number of spells on her, meant to confuse whoever looked upon her and convince them to let her pass undisturbed, sort of like the ones put on Hogwarts to lure away Muggles. Finally, the boy Ambrose had been kind enough to lend her his own invisibility cloak to use (apparently he _had _brought it with him, but hadn't wanted to tell Hermione about it. She thought it best not to bring it up), and to cover Crookshanks with when she found him – because, as Alwyn had pointed out, the king was as likely to have put a warrant on that cat as on her.

"And you remember the spell?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. _"Creaturis revelio," _she repeated, and flicked the wand in the right manner (without actually _casting_ the spell – casting a location spell for magical creatures as Hogwarts was about as good of an idea as howling into a werewolf's lair).

Alwyn nodded approvingly, and then grabbed her wrist. He'd be taking her as close to his house as he thought safe, and would then proceed to the castle. "Are you ready?" he asked. Hermione nodded, trying not to think of some of the rather unpleasant things she'd read about Apparition.

Ambrose cleared his throat, interrupting Alwyn's concentration.

"Yes, boy?" Alwyn said, somewhat impatiently.

"Just, the cloak," the boy said. "... it was my father's." He glanced at Hermione. "So get rid of the cat hair afterwards, will you?"

Hermione smiled. "Of course I will." And then she gave him a hug, much to his embarrassment.

... ... ...

"We shall meet here, in the same spot, in four hours' time," Alwyn said. Hermione barely heard him, since the world was still spinning. She had to lean against the wall, and put her hand in front of her mouth, hoping it would stop her from vomiting.

"Whether you find what you search for or not, you better be here by the. Is that clear, miss?"

"Yes," Hermione said in a faint voice. "Crystal."

"Good," he said. "Now, put the cloak on before anyone sees you. Good luck." He disappeared with a bang.

Hermione did as he'd told her, and then spent the next five minutes with her eyes closed, trying to believe that the ground was steady beneath her feet, and not magically transformed into some sort of roller coaster. Merlin, she hated Apparition.

Still, she didn't have much time, given that she might have to search through the entire town, so she muffled her voice from Muggles with a spell, and started calling for Crookshanks. She wasn't surprised when he didn't turn up – after all, last time he'd been gone for days before anyone had found him. (She tried not to think of that particular finder, but since he was part of the reason as to why she was hiding beneath an invisibility cloak right now, that was rather hard.)

Maybe she should have used a memory charm on Charles after all, even though there had been more witnesses – if _he _had no memory of what had happened, maybe that would've given her a chance. After all, he was Henry's closest friend, and he trusted him. But now, with such an important person knowing what she was, there was no going back.

She tried the location spell, but since it only worked if the creature was nearby, again, she wasn't very surprised when nothing happened. Still, she continued to walk around the area, through the maze of narrow alleys and dirty streets, altering between calling the cat's name and casting the spell.

An hour later, she was getting too close to the castle for comfort, and she was ready to give up, when a shadow seemed to come her way. A shadow the same size and shape as Crookshanks. For a few moments Hermione felt almost happy, both for finding a lead on Crookshanks, and for making the spell work. The shadow rubbed itself against her leg, and then, it was off again, in the same direction from which it had appeared. The happiness she'd felt disappeared and left a lump inside her stomach.

It was headed towards the castle.

... ... ...

Henry tried his best to focus on every matter that did not involve women or emotions, and it seemed that the only thing that could take his mind off those things, was war.

He needed purpose in his life again, and if God wouldn't grant him the glory in having a son (without taking him back merely a few months later), then Henry would have to take it himself. Maybe it was what God wanted from him – after all, the Holy League was supported not only by England and Spain in its crusade against France, but also by the Pope.

Yes. He'd been too weak ever since he'd gotten on the throne three years ago, letting others decide for him, even though he was superior to everyone but God himself. No wonder the Lord wouldn't grant him glory – he had yet to deserve it. He had been a spoilt child, who'd expected to have things handed to him, and the Lord had punished him for it. It was time for him to become a man. To become a king.

Taking back France was the honourable thing to do, and it would prove both to his people and to God that he was the right one for the throne, even though it had been meant for his brother. He'd go to France, fight for his country, and when he came back, he was sure that he'd be rewarded for his actions. When he came back, everything would be put right again.

There was a scratch on the window, interrupting his thoughts. First he thought it to be a bird, considering how high up the room was, but when he looked through the glass, he was met by a more familiar sight.

The monster cat. _Her _cat.

... ... ...

Hermione managed to sneak into the castle thanks to the invisibility cloak, but she didn't dare to use the location spell once she was on the inside, since people might find it odd to see a shadow without a body running around.

She hated the feeling that took place inside of her. She'd _missed _this place, maybe just as much as she'd missed Hogwarts – and it wasn't just because of Henry. This place was beautiful, with all the gold, satin and marble, and portraits and stained glass windows. It was magical, and even more so, since there had been no magic present in the making of it.

Hoping that Crookshanks would've returned to the place most familiar to him, she walked towards the room that had been hers. It felt as it had been years since she'd last been here, rather than days. Perhaps time moved at a different pace back here.

She made sure that no one was around before she opened the door (once again, a door opening without anyone there might be seen as suspicious), and looked around the room. There were no signs of her ever having stayed there – not a dress in the wardrobe, nor a crease on the bed sheets, not even a single cat hair. Nothing. And definitely no Crookshanks.

The time was almost up now, and she knew she had to get back to Alwyn soon, but she was so close ... maybe she should use the spell after all. It was only a shadow anyway, barely visible, especially on the inside, where candles and fires created a thousand shadows anyway.

_"Creaturis revelio," _she whispered.

When the shadow came towards her, she knew where it would go even before it turned back around. Together they walked, the shadow cat and the invisible girl, to the King's chambers.

... ... ...

At first, he'd been thinking about pushing the cat from the window, hoping to prove that felines didn't always land on their feet. But then, as it let out a meow and looked at him with eyes that seemed to know what he'd been thinking, he decided to let it inside instead.

The animal kept its distance and its eyes at him at all times, even when it started to clean itself, while Henry sat down again. What was he to do with it? He knew how much the cat meant to the girl, which meant that if he wanted to hurt her, this was the perfect opportunity. But the cat had come to him, as if it trusted him.

Or maybe she'd sent it. Maybe it was here to spy on him. Or to put him under another spell. He should have it killed.

The cat stopped cleaning itself and stood up on all four legs, its tail slowly moving from side to side, like a snake. It could probably read minds. He should definitely have it killed.

Then again, he could use it to get her here. To get her here and punish her for straying from the righteous path. For cheating God just as much as cheating him. Having her face her creator for the crimes she'd committed.

The light flickered in the room, making the shadows dance on the walls. And then, there it was – proof of the witchcraft he hadn't wanted to believe in. The cat's shadow seemed to move, even though it was standing still. No, not one shadow – there were two of them. Two dancing shadows, while the creature itself stood perfectly still.

"Devil," he hissed, and moved for the door, but before he'd even touched the handle, it swung open by itself. No one was standing outside.

Crossing his heart, he decided to leave the devil's spawn in the room, and let someone else come back for it. He hurried out through the door, only to be stopped by solid air – it was as if he'd walked into a wall.

He caught his breath, and then reached out a hand to touch whatever had come in his way. His fingers grabbed a hold of something soft, like fabric, and as he pulled it towards him, a young woman materialised out of nothingness.

It wasn't her. It was no one he'd ever seen before.

Involuntarily, he took a step back, stumbling on the carpet. The momentarily loss of balance put a strain on his wounds, and he felt how the witch drained him of all power and courage.

"B-be gone, demon!" he called out, fumbling for his sword. Only, he wasn't carrying it, since it had made the belt too heavy for his wounded waist.

There was something off about the woman when he looked at her, and it felt like staring into a mirage – her features were hard to pinpoint, and his mind seemed to trail off ... who was she now again? He looked away. Didn't he have a war to plan?

The woman was holding a stick, and she raised it at him, but it was as if she was merely a dream – not really there. Maybe he was dreaming. She whispered something he couldn't hear, and the piece of fabric that he was still holding was ripped from his hands, and flew into hers. Then she turned to the cat, whispering for it to come to her.

But the cat didn't move. Instead, it was looking straight at him. He realized it had never stopped looking at him.

"Crookshanks, it's me," he could hear the woman whisper. "You know it is."

The animal meowed, and started walking. But not towards the woman, towards him.

"Crookie, we have to leave," the woman urged the cat. Her voice was a bit louder now, but still a whisper. "What's gotten into you? He never even liked you!" As the voice rose, it seemed more and more familiar. But his mind was foggy, and the thoughts slipped away like water in one's hands.

"Crookshanks! Come here, now!" She'd spoken out loud this time, and even though he didn't know her face, he knew her voice.

"Hermione?" he said, almost against his will. He been trying so hard to erase that name from his mind and his thoughts, and here he was saying it out loud, in such a manner that she'd undoubtedly know the agony and sorrow she'd put him through. The hurt seemed to hang in the air long after the sounds had left his lips. Despite everything else, demons and magic, that was the thing that felt the worst.

She shook her head, but despite the fact that it wasn't really her features (or maybe it was?), she was still a terrible liar. Her eyes were grey, but there was the same look in them, the look he'd mistaken for love.

"I'll have you burn at the stakes for this," he said, his voice low and full of the hate that was eating him from within.

"I know you would," she said. "If I were to let you. _Petrificus Totalus!" _

He tried to duck from the ray of light that was shot at him, but she was a good shot, and it hit him straight in his heart. He felt cold all of a sudden, and his limbs went rigid. Before he fell to the ground, she was there to catch him, and despite him not being able to move, he could still feel her skin upon his as she gently lay him down on the floor.

She let him go quickly, but her eyes kept looking at his for a while longer, tears filling them up.

"I'm sorry. F-for everything," she cried softly. "Well, m-maybe not for everything. I'm glad I got to know you, but I'm sorry it had to end this way. I really am. And whatever you think, I never used magic on you until now." She wiped away her tears, like the good actress that she was. "And I never will, after this." She let her hands rest lightly upon his for just a second, and then pulled it back as if it'd burned her. Maybe it had, but his skin felt like ice where she'd touched it. Magic, she'd said, but not what kind. Maybe the ice would spread to his heart and put out the fire that raged within. It would have to be powerful magic to be able to do so.

As she rose, her figure became a blur in the periphery of his eyes, and he couldn't move his neck to see what she'd do next. But he could hear the sweeping sound of the wand moving, and then how she took a deep breath. _"Obli–"_

Another voice, a male one, cut her off. _"Petrificus Totalus!"_

The witch froze, her wand still raised. For a few seconds she stood there, as still as a statue. And then her rigid body fell to the ground with a thumping sound, away from him, disappearing completely from his sight.


	30. Chapter 30

There was nothing on the damp stone-floor, except some mouldy straw sparsely littered in the corners. Its musty smell mingled with those of previous residents' urine and sweat, which had forced Hermione to breathe through her mouth the first couple of hours. She could hear rats running around, and sometimes even felt them stroking her legs when she'd given in to sleep, promptly waking her up again. And if that didn't wake her, the noises from the rest of dungeons surely did – screams and cries and sounds she had never heard before. She kept close to the barred wall, where the dim torchlight from some close-by corridor made it a bit easier to distinguish the darkness from everything creeping and crawling in it. She was sitting on the floor, with just a thin chemise between her skin and the stone – they'd taken the dress from her, since, apparently, she'd "deceived his Majesty into bestowing it to her". She'd been forced to wrap the fabric around her bare feet in an attempt to keep warm, but still the cold stone drained all the heat from her body.

She wasn't sure how long they'd kept her in there, since no daylight made its way inside, but it had probably been days, since the transfiguration spell had lifted and she had her normal features back. The guards came to her infrequently, sometimes giving her burnt bread and stale water for breakfast, and at other times unidentifiable, tasteless stews. She feared they were trying to mess with her time perception, because at times she was still feeling sick from the meal before, and at others her stomach was screaming out in hunger. She'd thought they'd come to interrogate her soon after her imprisonment, but the man who'd attacked her hadn't stayed after releasing her from the petrification (she thought it was a man at least, based on his voice, but she'd never actually seen his face), and apart from the guards, no one had come to see her since.

Still, that wasn't what worried her.

_They'd taken her wand._

They'd taken her wand, and they were going to kill her.

They'd taken her wand, and there was nothing she could do. She was stuck in here, with no way of getting out, with no way of communicating. She was as powerless as a Muggle.

And she would die here.

... ... ...

They'd taken her, and they were going to kill her.

Henry was sitting by his desk, trying to organise his thoughts. (The royal physician had insisted he'd lie down in bed, but Henry refused showing any signs of weakness. Being overpowered by a woman was embarrassing enough, even if she was in league with the Devil.)

They'd taken her, and she was in imprisoned in this very building. She was his to do with as he pleased. To punish, to penalise. To rid the earth of and put it all behind him.

They'd taken her, and he could go see her this very minute. To question her about her motifs. To ask it it'd all been a lie, of if there had been any truth to her last words. To ...

He shook his head. No. Of course there hadn't. She was a witch, and witches spoke no truth. They filled one's head with lies and spells to do their bidding.

And for that she had to die.

... ... ...

She was fairly sure what would come, if not now, then soon – a short but unfair trial "proving" that she was a witch with all sorts of torture, then the possible hanging and lastly, her burning at the stakes. If only she'd had her wand, she wouldn't have had to worry, since she'd known the flame-freezing charm since the age of twelve, but without it, the fumes would make her unconscious within minutes, and then she'd have no chance against the flames.

If only they hadn't taken Crookshanks. Then he could have alerted Alwyn. But she had heard his screams and yowls as they'd captured him, and she had no idea where he was now – or if he even was alive.

Which meant that her only hope was the unknown wizard that had attacked her, or possible Mr Aubrey since she hadn't shown up to their meeting. The odds weren't exactly in her favour.

Steps woke her up from her thoughts. Not the soft tapping of rats, nor the harsh sounds of the guards' leather boots on the stone. The steps were gentle, but definitely human. She straightened her back, scuffing back against the side wall, into the darkness where she'd be less exposed.

A shadow carrying a torch came to her cell. The bright orange light blinded Hermione, forcing her to close her eyes. She'd seen enough of the skirts and glittering jewellery to know who the figure was, though.

"Do you remember what I told you, witch, the first time we saw each other?" the queen asked.

Hermione opened her eyes, slowly, trying to adjust to the light. "I am not a witch," she said with a frail voice, not having used it for days. Catherine had not come alone – a monk was with her, carrying the torch.

"The king will testify that you are. There is no purpose for you to deny it. But tell me, do you remember?"

"Answer your queen," the monk said, his accent even heavier than Catherine's, when Hermione didn't say anything.

"I shall allow it, Fray Diego," she said in a calm tone. "I think you remember, but per'aps you do not want to. I told you, that you will be forgotten, but that I shall always be 'is majesty's wife."

For some reason, Hermione could see Ron next to her, laughing and saying: "Well, I wouldn't be so sure of that." Great – the sleep deprivation had started to cause hallucinations. When she shook her head, he disappeared.

"I am not a witch," Hermione said again, the lie coming surprisingly easy to her lips – maybe because her life depended on it.

"Oh, you are," Catherine said. "And you will confess. If not for the testimony, then for the evidence. And if not for that, then they shall 'ave to proceed with other ways of interrogation, of which I am certain you want nothing to do. List the charges, Fray Diego."

The man cleared his throat and pulled out a scroll. "Possession of an invisible object, clearly full of dark magic. Association with a spiritus familiaris, named in the un-Christianly fashion of Crookshanks, who after thorough testing 'as shown signs of possessing magical powers itself."

"What have you done to him?" Hermione called out. "He's just an animal!"

The monk didn't listen to her, but instead kept on reading. "Conjuring a dark shadow spirit set to attack 'is majesty. Reading forbidden books, even though she is a peasant of low birth and should 'ave no knowledge of the written word, which is evidence of a pact with the devil. Cursing the king at the melee so that 'e fell of 'is 'orse and was severely injured. Cursing the queen to become barren. And also, possessing a magical aiding tool."

From underneath his dressing robes, he pulled out her wand. It showed no signs of magic in his muggle hands.

"What's that?" she asked, her voice thick in her throat. "A stick? Why should I want that?"

"Merely a stick, you say? Is that so?" Catherine asked. "Then you would not mind if fray Diego makes certain of it?"

Hermione shook her head – as long as it was in Diego's hands, nothing could happen with it.

Catherine smiled. "Good. Proceed, fray Diego."

The queen looked at Hermione's shocked face as the monk took the wand in both hands, and broke it in two.

... ... ...

"Has the witch confessed?" Henry asked the guard in charge, as he came to his chambers to report.

"No, your majesty," he answered. "We have kept her awake to cause confusion, as you ordered. Also, she has been informed of the charges for which she stands accused."

"By whom?" Henry wanted to know. "The girl was to be kept in the dark about that, for at least another twenty-four hours!"

"I beg your pardon, your majesty. But it was her majesty the queen, and her monk, friar Diego. We assumed they came on your orders."

"They did not," Henry said, his teeth clenched together.

"I beg your pardon, your majesty," the man repeated.

"Never mind. Perchance it has been long enough." He nodded. "Yes, continue with the next step. If she will not confess willingly, we shall have to force her."

"Yes, your majesty."

"Now, leave me. And let it be known that I wish to see the queen."

"Yes, your majesty." The man bowed and left the room.

... ... ...

"I thought you should be glad, that you did not 'ave to worry about 'er."

"You do not get to think for me!" Henry called out, which made Catherine cower backwards, against the door. "You do not get near her!"

She lowered her head. "I shall take it as a sign of your love, your majesty, that you worry about me being in 'er presence."

He stepped up to her, standing so close he could see the veins in her eyes. "Take it in any way you wish, except in that one." For a moment, he wished he could hurt her, not just with words, but physically, too.

She looked back into his eyes, searching for something, and then crossed her heart. "She still has you under her spell," she whispered, fumbling for the door handle. He took a hold of her arm, having to restrain himself from throwing her to the floor. The forceful movement hurt his wound, but not as much as it would have a few days ago.

"She does not," he said. "I have neither her, nor you, in my heart, so get that inside your thick head."

"Then why are you so upset?"

He backed away, letting go of her, not sure he knew the answer himself. "It is not you I care about," he finally decided, "but any future king of England who has to grow inside you. Going to her, you have jeopardised my future heir. I should have _you _thrown in a dungeon for that."

Lowering her neck again, she said, "I am yours to do with as you please, your majesty. But keep in mind, if an heir is what you wish for, an environment like that would not do well."

He shook his head, furious without exactly knowing why. "Just go. Leave me be, and the witch as well."

As she curtsied, he took a swing at a vase standing nearby. It hurt his wound, but eased his soul. He kept swinging, throwing everything in the room to the floor, breaking pottery and china and anything getting in his way. But soon the shattering sounds lost their calming effect, and he still felt that confused anger bottled up inside.

Why _had _he wanted to keep Catherine away from the witch? It truly hadn't been to protect his wife, but the lie about his heir hadn't been true either – he'd only thought of that as he'd said it.

Maybe the witch still had him under a spell. Maybe she hadn't let him go at all. Maybe it had been a back-up plan if things were to go wrong, as they surely had. Maybe she was hoping that these feelings that still lingered inside him would somehow save her.

Well, she was wrong. But to be certain of it, he'd have to get away from the influence of that spell once and for all. And to do that, he'd have to go to see her, to make sure that nothing of it would remain after she'd been wiped off the earth.


End file.
